Excerpts from Mihren's Journal: From Origins to Inquisition
by deletrear
Summary: [The page is covered with a cartoon drawing of a dragon with sharp teeth, a round belly, and large eyes. The dragon has its tongue out, hissing, with it's tiny wings outstretched threateningly. In barely eligible handwriting, the caption reads 'fuck off'.] Excerpts from the private journal of Mihren; companion to The Hero of Ferelden, The Champion of Kirkwall, and the Inquisitor.
1. The Seven-Toed Elf (Whatever That Means)

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Excerpts from Mihren's Journal: From Origins to Inquisition

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* * *

9:29 Dragon  
Entry One  
.

Found this shit ugly journal on the body of the guy I straight up just looted. It had, like, weird ass squiggles on the first few pages that meant zero sense to me so I just ripped those out. The papers are now inside the mouth of the dead guy. He's dead. He won't complain. He also can't get cold, so I stripped him of all his clothes as well (not as sexy as it sounds, there was minimal participation on his part, selfish asshole made me do all the work.)

New thing I learned today: dead people smell _rank_.

Also, gigantic fucking sword that I can mysteriously pick up? Never miss arm day. You just never know when an insane blood mage will decide to pierce the veil of not _one,_ not _two,_ but in fact _three_ worlds to drag an unsuspecting high schooler straight into hell. She couldn't settle for summoning some truly horrific thing from the Fade.

 _No._ This chick was of the 'go big or go home' mentality, couldn't settle for less.

I still maintain that she could be exercised some sanity and left me the hell alone but. Whatever. Despite the fact that I literally _need_ to have Gigantor the Sword snapping my back in half if I want to live up to my eighteenth birthday, things aren't, like, _terrible_ , I guess.

Lie. I'm calling out my own bullshit now since I'm totally and completely alone. Things are worse than terrible. They're _fucking_ terrible. Things have never been so terrible in my entire _life_ and that's saying something because I'm not a straight white boy from the suburbs. 'Fucking terrible' just took an enormous dump on my life and made me swim downstream in it with my mouth open.

Christ, what a truly heinous metaphor.

Accurate, though. Very… _very_ accurate.

Anyway, decided to write this shit down since I doubt this weird ass country ("Thedas" which sounds fake but okay) has fucking. What are they called? Shrinks? Therapists? _Theda_ pists? Ha! Yeah, let's go with _Thed_ apists. This hole of a country has twinkle-fingers and these creatures that are, like, crossed between LOTR orcs and Satan's asshole, but I have yet to meet someone who has anything _remotely_ close to sanity.

So, no therapists, but yes to writing down your feelings.

Might as well start in the beginning. Not the _beginning-beginning_ though because that's just me suffering through school and walking home from the bus stop as I fucked around on my phone and there isn't enough 'constantly-waiting-for-death' vibes in that. We'll start at the _real_ beginning.

Or as _I_ like to call it:

Blood Mages Can All Suck A Bag Of Dicks, The Pricks: The Musical

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* * *

.

When I came to, I was strapped to a stone table and surrounded by freshly-lit black candles. Considering the last memory I had was of walking home from school, fully clothed, something was clearly amiss.

But as I was now—naked, disoriented, strapped down—was not anything that I actually _should_ be. I was also freaked out but that comes with the territory. Naked and afraid. Christ, I hated that show, but damn if it wasn't relevant.

The room was dimly-lit — _not_ accounting the weird voodoo candles — and a quick glance around told me jack shit about where I was. My entire body felt like a gigantic bruise, bones weighing in like steel and eyesight frustratingly blurry for someone with 20/20 eyesight. When I tested my restraints, I could tell they were the real deal. Considering that I had the body strength of a wet noodle, and any sort of restraints let alone efficient ones were major obstacles, the whole leather-and-buckles wasn't exactly… _welcome_ news.

Where the fuck _was I?_

Feeling myself start to panic, I strained against the restraints. The futility of the thing didn't really matter by the third unsuccessful attempt. I kept at it anyway, until my shoulders ached and my wrists and ankles chafed and sweat gathered uncomfortably at the base of my neck. By the time it finally sunk in that willpower would not weaken the straps, I gave one last, _aggressive,_ frantic attempt — all desperation and no finesse.

 _Shittin'_ _ **shite.**_

A door out of my sight creaked open. Light footsteps pattered towards me. I could feel my heartbeat in his teeth as I waited for my— kidnapper? to step into my line of sight. No matter what they looked like, I knew instinctively that I wouldn't like them. I was afraid already— keenly frightened, and not the least bit confused.

"Hey! Hey, w-what the hell, man? What's this about? Let me g-go!"

"Silence, demon." A cold voice rung out, and then there was an unexpected sharp bite of a blade at my ankles that had me screaming in pain. Yeah. No theatrics at all. Just 'hey there, how would you like to not walk on your feet? SNIP'.

"I know what you are. You need not attempt to lull me into a false sense of security, it will not work."

 _Demon?_ I trembled, managing a weak sneer. "The fuck are you on about with this 'demon' shite, yeah? You some kind of racist? It's twenty-sixteen, get with the times — mmmmother _FUCKER_ — !"

"I said _**silence**_!"

"Jesus, okay, okay! J-Just quit it, man, stop with the fuckin' _pain_ —"

"Swear to me!" The woman snarled, and all of a sudden my sight was filled with a crazy white lady. Her eyes were bloodshot and wild, and her face was sallow and sunken, like a drug addict going through a shit withdrawal. If I even had the capability for it, I would have been pissed off — all of this because someone couldn't get their _fix?_ Was this a cosmic _joke?_

There was little time to contemplate it. Crazy lady went off again, and soon, I was writhing and trying my hardest to minimize the threat to my life. So when she started screaming, I said anything to placate her.

"Swear to me your obedience, demon! Swear that you will not harm me!"

"Wha—shit, yeah, okay! I swear I won't hurt you! I swear!"

The woman leaned in until we were nose-to-nose. I tried to swallow my breaths so I wasn't hyperventilating all over _her_ ugly face as her eyes flicked all over _my_ face. Whatever she was looking for, Christ, but did I pray that she found it. And that whatever 'it' may be, it spelled out something like 'hey, could you perhaps stop hurting the school kid, maybe?' and also 'get help, you fucking weirdo'.

Just as my hopes cautiously started rising, a hideous sneer overcame her face, and she placed her hands on my bare chest. "You think me a fool, do you, sweetness? That I would believe such an obvious lie?" She snarled, voice dangerously soft despite the venom in it, and I futilely attempted to flinch away. There was nowhere for me to go. "I will bind you. To be certain, I will have to. It is my only option."

And as she went to crazy town, muttering under her breath about— oh, fucked if I knew, cult bullshit, that's what— I tested my restraints and found my efforts fruitless. I could hear nothing outside the room— no pipes creaking, no gas, no people. It was just me, the lady, the candles and the dank fucking room. It was at that moment that it sunk in.

My blood ran cold.

I was going to die, wasn't I?

… God, but I didn't want to die.

The crazy lady started a crazy ritual. I screwed my eyes shut and tried my damnedest not to be where I was. I thought of hunting in the bush with my father, of spray painting the principal's office. I began to think of literally everything except my impending de— my impending—

 _I didn't want to_ —

There was shit to do: homework, my job, I still had my ungrateful brat of a little sister to look after. I had— there was this game I was going to buy, and Malcom— we were going to chill out at the quarry, weren't we? Would Malcom look for me? Jesus, and my dad— my dad was going to kill himself out of worry, of course he would, he couldn't be trusted to look after himself that was why I was _there_ —

The crazy lady _shrieked,_ and then threw herself on top of me. Literally. Straddling my waist, she threw my shoulders back into the stone tablet and _wheezed:_ "Why didn't it _work?_ "

Before I could even comprehend the nonsense she was shouting at me, a motherfucking _fire_ started in her palm, and she smothered it against my skin without any warning.

Except it didn't work out that way. An inch or so before it could touch me, the fireball completely vanished as if it wasn't there in the first place.

At that point, I was frozen in place. And this time, it wasn't just out of fear.

That didn't… but where did the fire… that didn't make any sense, she didn't have any— was this a circus cult full of drug addict magicians? What the holy hell?

The lady looked just as fucked up as I did about her magic _not_ working as I did about the presence of magic at all. Her hands glowed blue then, and she sliced her palm down, sending a sharpened icicle directly at my heart.

Disintegrated.

She tried again.

Bzzzt, wrong.

Again.

No deal.

Eyes wild again, she summoned up fire, she conjured winds, she froze the air, she brought a goddamn _rock fist_ down upon me.

Nothing came even remotely close to hitting me.

She seemed to throw everything she could at me, from elementals to literally waking the dead to trapping me in a crushing telekinetic prison that only served to trigger my claustrophobia but did nothing else, sliding off me when it got too close.

And as she tried in vain to inflict even the slightest bit of magic on me, I laid there, life in her hands, and stared the existence of something impossible right in the face, feeling the metaphorical world slide out from beneath me.

"Magic," she said softly, panting as though she had finished vigorous exercise, "it does not harm you. It does not — how is such a thing possible?" There was none of the crazy in her voice now. There was confusion, and a desire to _know,_ which, I found, chilled me in a way the crazy couldn't. If I thought I knew what fear felt like before, it was nothing compared to the dread that pooled in my stomach at the glint in her eyes.

"I must have… you are not a demon, then, for the Fade to not influence you. I — it worked?" Wonder was in her voice. Wonder and pride. A crooked smile broke out on her face. "It worked! I thought— but no, of course, it should have been obvious from your attire, I have never seen such cloth in my life. You…"

She trailed off, staring at me with wide eyes.

I swallowed. "W-What?"

"You…" She breathed, and then grinned, sharp and fascinated and unhinged. "You are not from this world." She crawled off my body and stood vigilant at my side, consulting a heavy tome that belonged in a museum.

I shook my head, at first slightly and then frantically, so hard that I thought I might dislodge my head from my shoulders entirely. "Holy shit you must be _insane_ if you really think that. You need help. You need to— to go to the nuthouse, okay, where professionals can help you! Or— or a goddamn prison, yeah? Rot behind the cells with other freak shows for the rest of your life, fuck, I don't know, just— just let me go, let me leave, I won't tell anyone what happened just let me go— "

"Oh, sweetness." The woman sighed, dropping the tome to the floor and brandishing her fancy knife again. It already had blood on it from when she sliced the back of my ankles. Just looking at it made bile rise in my throat. "Begging won't help your case. You know that. I know that. So save it, okay? And stay still like a good little otherworlder."

"W-What are you f-fucking _doing_?"

"I'm going to find out what makes you tick. I tore through the fabric of reality to drag you from a world without magic, I need to know what it is about you that makes you different. Is it physical? Mental? Spiritual? I can't know for certain unless I get my hands dirty, you understand." There was a slight furrow between her brows as she carefully examined my body. Her eyes stopped somewhere around my clavicle, and she leaned forward with her knife carefully poised. "Now, stay still, sweetness. You don't want me to cut something I shouldn't."

And then everything was a blur, and all I could do was _scream._

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* * *

.

I don't remember much about what happened in that room. I'm sure if I tried really hard to, I could, but the fact of the matter was this: I _didn't_ want to. Whatever happened there on that table, beneath her knife, was nothing I wanted to live with. I had the scars and the fear and the paranoia but I did _not_ need the memory of it. Like, thanks but no thanks?

Maybe it was just me, but torture wasn't something that excited me.

So, if anyone asks, whatever happened _before_ they met me is a mystery to the both of us. Strangely enough (or not so strange?), an amnesiac elf isn't that strange to humans; Christ, but that race operated under the belief that elves could do anything, from dancing in the moonlight to literally forgetting their entirely life prior to Darkspawn overdose, and it wouldn't trigger suspicion from them at all. Just a good old, 'Oh, there goes Bill again, forgetting his entire life! Oh, Bill, you silly blighter.'

The shit humans let themselves believe was confounding, you know. And I say that as someone who still considers themselves a human. Because that's what I fucking _am_ , no matter what these pointy ears tell everybody else.

But my discovery of being an elf comes later. Post-torture and post-escape. Yeah, I escape. Wasn't easy, but nothing under that fucking weirdo's knife was exactly easy, and I dislocated my thumb getting myself off the table alone— it was about as fun as it sounds. Would rather not get into it with a book.

Let's just say that after losing more than half your toes and part of your ears, a dislocated thumb is nothing.

Took that fucking dagger and drove it right into her—

 _Nothing less than she dese—_

 _Dry retched for ten minutes after—_

 _Christ, the blood—_

Ransacked her house (hut?) for shit like food, clothes, bandages, but all I found was books and knives and like, all the typical stuff you find in a serial killer's house. She had apples though which was cool and I inhaled those fuckers. Didn't know what hit them.

Anyway: books. Couldn't read half of them. Actually, couldn't read any of them except for a handful of super old 'Tevene' books and even then it was touch-and-go.

When I say touch-and-go, I mean 'the instinctive OW FUCK reaction you get when you put your bare hands into an open flame for no conceivable reason other than you don't really know what else to do'. But I did learn _something_ from the random reading, so it wasn't all for nothing.

Let me explain—okay, no. There's too much. Let me sum up:

I'm not in Brooklyn anymore. Or America. Or… Earth at all. I saw the maps. Couldn't read what the fuck most of them said but I _saw the maps_ and I didn't recognize _any_ of it. The old books that I _could_ read gave me the bare bones of shit. Enough to know that I'm kind of… desperately horribly lost.

Which, you know, cool. Whatever. It happens to the best of us.

Except I'm totally fucking freaking out?

. . .

I need to look for a city or a town or something. Find a library. I need to figure out what's going on, and how I'm supposed to get home.

Oh, and figure out how to use Gigantor the Sword.

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* * *

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9:29 Dragon  
Entry 2  
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Don't know what the name of this town is but I'm 98% sure a massive tsunami could wipe it off the face of the earth (Thedas?) and no one would be any wiser. It's _that_ insignificant.

I think even the villagers themselves know how irrelevant they are. Their heads are fuckin' empty. And they're rude? It's like, "okay, _don't_ tell me where to find the library is, you rude fuck", you know? And when they're not staring into space doing fuck all, they're _scowling._ Someone needs to introduce Thedas to manners or some shit. Whatever they have right now is appalling.

… Anyway, some not-nun directed me to a not-church when I went scurrying about begging for books. There was even a Sister there who figured out I couldn't read for shit and offered to be my real-life audiobook. Told me all about the months and the seasons and 'annums'. Even laid out some basic geography for me, that bloody blessing. It was pretty nice of her, until she inevitably started _preaching_ , and then it was... (-interest) (+dislike) for the me.

All the books they have there are 'donated' books, which is **bullshit** because there was _zero_ erotica and 100% "Praise the Maker! Andraste is the best! Fuck the Imperium!" Plain unrealistic. Everybody, humans or anything-other-than-human, had a weird fascination with erotica and a desire to share their weird kinks with the world. As if _none_ of the donated books were smutty, you know? It's just. That's so fucking fake.

As I was saying! Chantry Sister, preaching! Should have seen that one coming but ashamed to say it completely blindsided me. I was out there having a good time and she suddenly started attacking me, bludgeoning me over the head with her faith. It was self-promo-ing at its finest. Honestly, it was sort of embarrassing in this wacko second-hand way. Like, you know? Chill out a bit? I don't care about your absentee Maker or the burning woman, I just want to know how to cross worlds.

Which was how I found about mages, actually.

It's... some pretty deep shit, dude. Templars, Circles, the laws surrounding mages entirely, the treatment Apostates get. I mean, the book was using big words so it was clear the book was trying _not_ to seem like a dick, but the tone of the thing was understood, and it _was_ being a dick. Undeniably so. Plus the Sister was ragging on about mages like they'd all lined up to kick her up the ass when she was a kid, so it wasn't really subtle.

Fact: Actual literal swords are treated better than mages. _Sharpened steel_ literally _invented_ to _murder_ _shit_ is treated better than _people_ in this world. Sounded familiar.

And I was all like: "You guys seriously treat people like that?"

And she was all: "Blah blah blah we treat them with suspicion so that we who walk in the sight of the Maker can continue to lead full lives free of demonic influences mwahaha I eat babies for breakfast!"

So I went: "I hear you, but that just sounds really racist. Like, be real with me here, be real with _yourself,_ stop lyin' _._ It's like a world-wide asshole mentality and you know it is. Don't try to make excuses for that, that makes you seem even more asshole-y."

And then she went all squinty-eyed and was all snooty and went: "You know, Messere, I find it strange that you cannot read. It is a basic skill, every human I know is literate. I simply find it strange that you aren't."

Which, like, wow? Salty, yeah? So I was like, "Uh, I was never taught." because it was a lot more plausible than the truth. The truth, I also suspected, would have gotten me chained up and thrown to the Templars despite _not_ being a mage.

Then she got _suspicious_ -like and asked the weirdest fucking question anyone has ever asked me. So was like, "Messere, may I see your ears?" So me, being a good fucking person who trusted this preachy Sister, showed her my very average ears, if a bit mutilated because of that ABHORRENT BITCH who GOT ME STUCK HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE—

Anyway. I showed her my average ears only for her to point out how very _not_ average they are. I figured it was the fact that parts of them were literally Not There until she starting harping on about trees and savages. So that's how I found out I am apparently an _elf_.

She got all hostile after that so I straight up left in the middle of her lecturing me about—something, can't remember. Not worth it.

Walking away from that irrelevant town, I found out what I needed to know (i.e: there were low-level bandits on the roads — and I'm talking level one bandits here — the main trade route to Lothering was all good for refugees, "oh my, that Greatsword looks terrifying, Messere!", and "what a handsome man it is attached to the sword!") ((last one is less true in terms of being-a-thing-that-was-actually-said-aloud, but it is also the one fact in this fucked up world so how about _that_ )).

There are whispers about something called a 'Blight' (whatever the fuck that is huh) but figured if I stay out of its way then we wouldn't have any beef with each other.

I'm moving onto another town though. This one's full of jackasses. I'll figure out how to use Gigantor the Sword on the road, maybe hack at a tree, intimidate some plants into submission, that sort of thing.

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* * *

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9:29 Dragon  
Entry Three  
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Mysterious sword that is mysterious big is mysteriously light considering I don't even lift bruh. Found this fascinating and mysterious information today being a fuckhead in the bushes. Cool, cool, cool.

Encountered BANDITS today. THAT'S JUST MY LIFE NOW. Not many, and I don't think they meant to encounter me in the first place, and certainly not while I was taking a piss, but hey, stranger things have happened. Little seven year old Ren would be sitting himself though. Actual bandits. A dream come true.

Bandit 1 was all, "Mwahaha give up all of your belongings if you want to live!" but that didn't work on me. I guess once you've been cut into and held captive by a psycho blood mage for fuck-knows-how-long you automatically gain balls of steel. And Bandit 1 was pretty intimidating looking, objectively speaking.

Instead of scaring me, he sort of... _really_ pissed me off? I'm talking Bruce Banner levels of anger here, too.

But I kept a lid on my temper anyway, proving that I am, in fact, a saint!

… Until Bandit 2 opened his mouth. Things kind of went red after that. No more sainthood for me.

He didn't even say anything, like, sharp, you know? He didn't exactly roast me. Bandit 2 just went all sneery at me and was all, "Hur hur hur that Greatsword is as big as you I bet you can't even swing it hur hur hur" and then next thing I know I'm cutting his head off? Which, like, holy fuck disgusting I saw his spine and everything and the blood was fucking everywhere shit? Seriously though, complete accident. Do not know what happened. Complete blank-out.

I just went all rage-monster on the poor bastards.

Note: may need to attend anger management classes when I get back home?

Cut down Bandit 1 shortly after and stood over their dead bodies like a freak-o still high on that epic murder combo I just flawlessly executed so I started taking on the tree in an official spar to burn off the energy. Button-smashing in real life. It wasn't doing much for me except boring the shit out of me and making me angrier, so, whatever. I was about to dump myself in the lake when the rest of the bandits came looking for their friends and found a blood-soaked angry elf instead.

Needless to say, things went directly to hell. No stopping at Go, didn't collect $200. Just shit.

The more I hurt the stronger—

I was so _angry—_

All I wanted was pai—

Looked one of them in the eye as I—

Everything was red everything their blood their eyes my ha—

Keep hearing them _scr_ —

I don't really know what I'm doing. It occurs to me that public Chantry's with their bullshit donated books aren't going to be helpful in explaining how the average person with anti-magic aura can transverse worlds, but I don't have any other leads. It's travel Thedas ransacking libraries or give up on the idea all together.

I'm not doing _that_. Shit needs doing, so I'm going to _do_. Who gives a shit what logic has to say about it, you know? Pigheaded determination should carry me through the worst of it, and then sheer dumb luck's going to push me over the finish line.

Prepare your shitty shelves, Chantry libraries. I'm about to demolish you.

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* * *

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9:29 Dragon  
Entry Seven  
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Sprained my goddamn wrist holding Gigantor wrong. Embarrassing as fuck. Hope when I'm jumped next they're too intimidated by the idea of me to actually fight me otherwise I'm going to get motherfucking robbed and I won't be able to do jack shit about it.

Slightly less shitty news: I made my first friend!

It's a small thing, half-dead when I stumbled upon it cowering in a tree, but a good judge of character considering how quickly it took to me. I climbed into the tree and perched on a branch for a good half hour with my hand sticking out, waiting for it to accept me as it's Lord and savior. Took around forty minutes total and I keep rubbing my shoulder with my not-sprained because that position isn't kind but, hey! I have a cat now!

It's gonna kill my rep as a badass elf not to be trifled with but sacrifices have to be made sometimes.

No bandits today. Was... slightly boring, now that I think about it. Oh, and I ran out of psycho-lady-food-supply so I'll have to go hunting. However that is possible with only a malnourished kitten and Gigantor. I doubt the squirrels and rabbits are going to sit there all nice and pretty as I charge at them with my fucking ten foot tall cleaver.

Maybe if I'm lucky . . .

Guess I'll be acquainting myself with the plants?

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* * *

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9:29 Dragon  
Entry Ten  
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 _[The page is full of small detailed drawings of plants. Written beside them are the names and qualities of the plants in messy handwriting. The words are not written in Common, or any other language known to Thedas. The language has similarities with Ancient Tevene. That's all that can be determined of it.]_

Elfroot – typically six leaves, sturdy stem, healthy bullshit, chew on the leaves for good times (unrelated to deathroot 'good times'. elfroot 'good times' are actually _good_ ). always need more elfroot.

Royal Elfroot – literally same as normal Elfroot but bluer and harder to find

Deathroot – purple flowers, kind of pretty, poisonous as fuck, **death** root, baked as a cake tbh

Embrium – who even knows, smell good, skeletor keeps sneezing around them (?)

Black Lotus – **NNNNOOOO!** shit for _days._ do _not_ eat this, motherfucker _. don't you dare._

Spindleweed – ? ? ? does nothing ? ? ? ? ? ?

Rashvine – sneaky pricks only grow out of stone, weirdos, make u itch (poison ivy yeah ? ?), turned my skin grey, made weird red spots pop up, thought shit was gonna go down but chickened out at the last minute. probs don't touch this again, ren.

Prophet's Laurel – brewed it wrong the first time, knocked me out cold, sleep potion shit my guy

Andraste's Grace – perfume flower ? ? ? nice in tea, skeletor likes it. stock this shit.

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* * *

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9:29 Dragon  
Entry Fifteen  
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Shouted "Hastag, bitchin'!" at my enemies as they ran away today. Totally worth it. Skeletor agrees.

Learning how to fight without flying into bloodthirsty rage but it's slow going. I'm actually looking for little shits to start fights with so they can beat into me. They think they're winning but when I get a second wind and drive into them like a motherfuckin' hurricane… Then… then they will realize…

Until the day when I figure out the proper stance that won't get me knocked on my ass or until I stop getting disarmed by literal fucking children (ironic, coming from a seventeen year old huh), then I'm gonna keep getting beat the fuck up.

I'll get it soon.

Reckon I'll get closer to a town soon. Signs of civilization all over the place. Actually ran into a _merchant,_ if you could believe it. Bought a bow straight off the guy— dwarf, first time seeing one of them, was a fucking journey, lemme tell you. Hope I don't see any more because I'll lose my SHIT— and then sold all the bullshit plants I'd accidentally kept on finding. He was pretty impressed. Apparently royal elfroot plants are hard to find?

Anyway, I'm _pretty_ rich right now. Now all I have to do is not get mugged.

Ha.

An elf traveling alone in Thedas, not getting mugged? Oh, Ren, surely you jest!

Nah though. I've never had so much Thedas money before in my life. If someone tries to make me poor again I'm going to fucking flip my shit I don't give a fuck about morality anymore. Skeletor is a growing kitten, little shit needs to eat cat food like a cat should.

Been brushing up on my archery. Still kind of shit at it but I reckon all I have to do is keep shooting until I stop missing and that's me for the rest of my life. Until I get back home, of course, which I will be. Soon.

Keep waiting, Chantry libraries. Soon.

Soon.

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* * *

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9:29 Dragon  
Entry Nineteen  
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Closed my eyes and I was back in the room—

Kept hearing her laughter—

The back of my ankles are tingling, I keep thinking they're blee—

Lied down today, coulda sworn there was someone holding me down—

Couldn't breathe—

Skeletor's worried because I woke up screa—

Happened again—

Now I'm just getting pissed off at myself for being so weak—

Fuck fuck fuc k fuck fu ck—

She keeps smiling at me—

I can't sleep.

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* * *

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9:29 Dragon  
Entry Twenty  
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It's been awhile since I saw the LOTR orcs-slash-Satan's-asshole creatures. Encountered them again for the second time.

Not fun! They're ugly motherfuckers, man. Like— the _smell_ of them. I could smell them before I heard them, you know? It was like... if death had a smell, I guess? They just smell like old blood and rotting corpses. I thought I was dreaming it at first but Skeletor was making a mess of my bedroll, the bitch, so I can no choice but to buck up.

It was just a scout or two. Still terrifying. Jesus, the way they _scream—_

I screamed right back at them. Helped a bit. Made me feel less like I was about to shit my pants. Could have always blamed it on the Black Lotus but I don't carry those motherfucking plants with me anymore, not since I got them confused with Laurel's Prophet and fucked myself up for a week.

Anyway. Orcs.

I would not recommend them as life partners. Sliced one of their heads of but the second one was sneaky as fuck. Kept dancing around me with twin daggers. This would have been less concerned if I actually had armour but since all I have are the unwashed rags of the dead guy I looted them off months ago

— _months ago—_

being stabbed in the back had the potential to really fucking hurt.

Still, fucker was fast. Took me a bit. Took me a _while._

Skeletor helped actually. Little shit pounced right onto the orc's face and clawed it half to death. Orc sent Skeletor flying— I paid it back for that. Made me feel a lot better.

Course, I thought Skeletor was dead or at least really hurt but that motherfucker landed on its feet right on top of my bedroll and was waiting all innocently when I sprinted over to check on it. What an asshole.

Still felt like it was a close call—

Dumbass cat needs to be careful—

It was pretty badass though. Skeletor earned its place of honor riding on my head. Proud of the idiot.

I hope I can find a way to bring it home with me. Dad would love it.

.

* * *

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9:29 Dragon  
Entry Twenty Three  
.

 _[The page is full of sketchy drawings of what appear to be landmarks. A tree with gnarled roots, a rotting wheel half-buried in the road, the ruins of a castle, and a bridge. Next to all pictures are tally marks ranging into the twenties.]_

I'm fucking **lost** _._

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* * *

.

9:29 Dragon  
Entry Twenty Four  
.

That merchant was a swell guy, got me on the right path and here I am! Checked out the library, had a lay sister read aloud to me. Found nothing, as per usual, but before I could scamper away to wallow in a dark corner, she offered to teach me how to read.

Yeah. I'm not even fucking with you. I'm half-sure she's in love with Skeletor — she kept dangling a string for Skeletor to fuck around with which I secretly dreaded the consequences of, now Skeletor was going to have _expectations_ fuck — and that's why she offered. NOT that I'm complaining. I accepted the lessons because I hate having not-nun's pity me as they read basic shit aloud for me to understand.

It always surprises them when I bust out words with three-syllables. Not even joking. Their shock literally fuels me. It's their fault for assuming that I'm an idiot so fair's fair. So I can't read their bullshit language! Doesn't mean I'm braindead.

Whatever though. Point is: she wants to teach me. It is pretty cool. It means I'll have to stick around though and there are already... kind of a lot of refugees around here. Not so much that the place is bursting at the seams, but too much for me to be overly comfortable with. There are a few already eyeing Gigantor. I hope they're not planning on stealing him from me— me and Gigantor have a **bond** _._

I have a duty to perform though so I told the sister I won't be staying long. Just long enough to learn the basics, I told her.

She has a fancy French accent so truthfully I barely understood what she replied with but she looked nice when she said it so it probably wasn't an insult.

And then as I was preparing to fuck off and find a nice tree to sleep under, she was all, "I'm sorry, but I didn't get your name. I am Sister Leliana."

I didn't even realize I didn't know her name, to be perfectly honest. I was like 'what the fuck even?' and then remembered that yeah, real humans (elves?) introduced themselves to strangers. I'm a dumbfuck. Been away from people too long, I'm a weirdo about it now.

"I'm Ren. It's short for Mihren. If you call me Mihren, I will have to disembowel you, and I really don't want to do that."

Smooth, Ren. She laughed though! Said I was charming. Bunch of bullshit, but still, nice that she's trying not to be disgusted with me. I smell rank. Wonder that she's putting up with me at all, let alone offering to teach me how to read.

I've decided not to be a complete asshole to her.

.

* * *

.

9:29 Dragon  
Entry Twenty Five  
.

Remember me resolution to not be an asshole to Leliana?

Yeah, well, I fucked _that_ up.

It's... not worth going into details. Honestly I'm just going to apologize right now and forget it ever happened entirely. And then I'm going to crash into the merchant's store, stock up on everything and flee into the night. Who cares about reading anyway?

Skeletor is sending me judgy looks. Literally fuck right off, cat-who-snacks-on-GRASS.

.

* * *

.

9:29 Dragon  
Entry Twenty Six  
.

Met a dog today! Apparently called "mabaris" and they're the ugliest dogs I have EVER ENCOUNTERED! Too muscly and they smell even worse than DarkspawnDarkspawn.

I thought it would help if I breathed through my mouth but I ended up _tasting_ the smell instead, which was undeniably the worst idea I've ever had since I decided to sleep with Gigantor sleeping next to me and I accidentally rolled on top of him, cutting myself right open.

I met the owner of the little monster too. Damn thing was harassing Skeletor. Or Skeletor was harassing the damn thing. Either way, I had to scoop my cat up to save the dumb thing from being swallowed whole. Ugly as the thing was, the mabari had _muscle._ I was worried it was going to beat me up to be fucking honest.

No thanks.

Anyway, owner! Guy a year or two younger than me called Carver. Bit of an asshole. Actually, huge, _gaping_ asshole. Farm boy, had an objectively hilarious tan, and he had white boy lips. Too skinny, though. Which was rich coming from _me_ but _I_ didn't have to check myself out. He was my only option and not even a very good one.

He kept looking at Gigantor and then me and then Gigantor and then me with this 'haha really?' snide look on his face that made me want to go for his throat. Before I could exercise my idiocy, however, the asshole's twin sister sidled up to us. Asshole's twin sister is less of an asshole.

She was really excited about Skeletor too. "What's her name?" Twin Sister asked, scratching Skeletor under it's chin. Mabari looked jealous as she did it. It gave me a thrill of pleasure. That's right, mutt. You are _inferior._

Skeletor was my cat's name. I didn't want to explain that though because like what the fuck right? So I went: "Elle. It's name is Elle." Never mind that I didn't know my cat was a girl in the first place. My cat didn't have a gender. My cat was an agender spawn of Satan, you know? "I just call it 'asshole', really."

I didn't realize I'd said it until I realized they were both staring at me. Twin Sister laughed first but Asshole was clearly judging me. I made a face at him. He looked so affronted it made my relapse into childishness so worth it.

"That's my older brother's mabari, we're taking him for a walk. His name is— uh, Apawstate," At my look, she gravely said, " _Seriously._ "

I turned to Skeletor and said, "Why didn't I think of that?" Skeletor disapproved. "How about Tempurr? Is it too late to rename you?" Skeletor _greatly_ disapproved. I made a face back at it. "No, you're right, Templars are assholes. They aren't worthy."

"You don't like Templars?" Twin Sister asked. Asshole yanked on her hair. Rude.

"Nah," I answered. "They're dicks from what I've heard of them. Why? Are you going to, like, report me for that? Because that's... going to kind of inconvenience me a little bit, and I'd rather not be inconvenienced."

"No! No, of course we won't tell. It's just—"

"Bethany!"

"Maker, Carver, calm down! I wasn't going to—" She shot me a look. "We're just used to Templar apologists, I guess. It's a bit rare to find someone who doesn't agree with their principles."

"I mean in general I tend to think that the Chantry's greatest accomplishment is convincing the entirety of Thedas that it _isn't_ a global superpower designed to oppress the minority. There are people who don't know that the Chantry shamelessly strong-arms anyone with the slightest ability to completely overrun them into fearing the Maker's disapproval to avoid opposition."

"Plus there's the whole _'manipulating the masses into turning the cheek when they massively fuck up'_ — which is kind of shitty — but I mean that could just be me."

They were silent.

Well.

"It's probably just me. Not really one for religion, me."

Still nothing. Asshole's face looked a bit stormy and troubled and Twin Sister's face looked like she'd been bonked over the head with something sturdy and painful. Even the mabari was kind of gaping at me by that point.

I was outies. Made my excuses, said goodbye to Apawstate (by which I mean I glared at him, Skeletor hissed, and Apawstate barked happily and wagged his tail), and hightailed it away from them. I was avoiding the Chantry after being a dick to Sister Leliana so I just went straight to my camp-set-up thing and settled in.

Am settled in.

Sitting here right now under the shade scrawling in this bullshit journal.

Still no closer to getting ho—

Starting to lose my patience but whate—

I know I should remain optimistic but that's never been m—

I _hate_ waiting for results—

Actually, I reckon I'll just turn in for the night.

.

* * *

.  
9:30 Dragon  
Entry Thirty Three

.

 _[This entry is well-loved.]_

I know the basics so I told Sister Leliana that I'm skedaddling ASAP. She seemed a bit disappointed — unfair, she is objectively attractive and I'm not gay enough that it's impacted my eyesight; pouting makes it hard for anyone to walk away, okay? — but ultimately wished me luck on my pursuits.

On my way outside the gates when I ran into Asshole, Twin Sister and Older Brother. As I mentioned last entry — s _ike! I've mentioned this in every entry because I'm trash!_ — Older Brother is super fucking hot and it makes me uncomfortable how attracted I am to that guy's beard. I didn't realize I had a thing for beards or gigantic fucking men who more closely resemble a bear more than they do a human but, I mean, _okay_.

The anti-Templar family caught me as I was fleeing in the night (actually sundown but technicalities) with my shit and my cat. No, I'm giving the humans too much credit. It was the _dog_ who caught me. Beast bull-charged me so I had no choice but to stand my ground and catch the fucking slab of stink when he sought to annihilate me. I let it happen despite knowing the smell would take weeks to wash out without soap.

And Twin Sister was all, "Oh, Ren, you're here! I'll tell mother! She'll be happy to set a seat for you!"

And I was like, "That's awkward _and_ unnecessary because I'm actually leaving forever and I don't plan to see you again in my entire life!"

She got all teary-eyed and wobbly-voiced and I regretted exactly everything that lead me to making Bethany Hawke cry. It's not a nice experience, you know? It's not— I didn't pat myself on the fucking back for it. It wasn't on _purpose._

Asshole had no right to stomp out and glare at me like my purpose was to crush Twin Sister's entire world. Also, he hardly had a leg to stand on. Didn't he nail her braids to the bed?

He was all gruff and tryna be tough and it was kind of hilarious. Like, "Hurhur what did you say to Bethany you punk?!" Shut up, Carver. No one cares.

So I, a man of integrity, didn't even hesitate to tell the truth because that's the type of honorable dude I am, right? "I'm going to disappear out of your lives forever you won't see me ever again!" I was expecting High School Musical levels of enthusiasm here, because he's an Asshole Who **Hates** Me.

Except, not? Uh, whoops?

He just looked all wide-eyed and surprised and then he looked all personally betrayed, like an angry version of Twin Sister, which — uncalled for.

So I went, "You know, the Sister who spent the last two months teaching me how to read took this news better than you guys," which didn't seem to help at all. Surprise.

Older Brother trotted out eventually wanting to know what was _wrong_. Like there was something wrong at ALL. I wish he hadn't come at all. His arms are, like, _always_ bare and the boy's _ripped,_ son. There was most likely drooling on my end, as there always was whenever I saw the man-turned-bear-turned-man-again.

And he was all, "Hey, Ren!" [Insert extremely annoying noogie here that makes me want to kill everyone in this town and then myself] "It's cold out, come inside! Mother's preparing dinner, I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you joined us tonight! There's more than enough!"

So I broke the news to him. And he went all doe-eyed as well. ( **WHY.** )

"You sure?"

"What do you mean, _am I_ — yes, Garrett, I'm sure. I got shit to do, you know? Books to read. Gotta travel outside of Lothering to get the shit I need to do the shit I need to do, you feel?"

"Half the stuff that comes out of your mouth doesn't make sense to me at all, even though almost every word you say is profanity," He said, always prepared to give me shit even when on the brink of manly tears, "But do you seriously have to go? You can't stow away somewhere? There's plenty of room under my bed. You're small, you'd fit."

Oh, charming. Thanks, Garrett. Prick.

Was I not speaking Common? Twin Sister was still trying (and failing, I'm ashamed to write) not to cry and Asshole was glaring daggers, or maybe even swords, at me. I didn't even realize they liked me so much that they were honestly upset about me leaving? I still don't get it. But at the time I _mega_ -didn't-get-it.

"I didn't even know you guys liked me." I ended up blurting because apparently I am a fucktard. Bad idea. Maybe even my worst idea. _All_ of them went doe-eyed, even _Asshole_ , and _he doesn't like me._ "Forget I said that." That was the approximate moment Twin Sister gave up on composure and threw herself at me. Sort of an awkward angle because she's taller than me by a lot and I think she forgets that a lot but it was definitely a hug.

I stood there. "Fucking hell, Bethy." I eloquently said.

"Language." Said Garrett.

"Fucking heck, Bethy." I corrected myself.

Garrett looked annoyingly proud of me for that. And then got me into another headlock. So I got strangled twice tonight. Didn't even really mind. That's easily the most disconcerting part of the ideal. Asshole just stood there glowering at me. Unsurprising, because, you know, _Asshole_ , but his siblings _had_ given me expectations. Expectations that he wasn't _meeting._

So yeah when Twin Sister stopped hugging me and Garrett stopped being a humongous-and-ripped-shithead, I was extra vindictive in dragging Asshole down into a hug. He screamed like a little bitch, immediately tried to wretch himself away from me, and struggled the entire time until I went all, "Carver I will stand here all night if you don't quit your fucking squirming, don't test me," and he just stood there stiffly and let me slowly strangle him.

Only when he pulled that stick outta his ass and went to hug back did I back the fuck out of there.

He actually doesn't smell too bad for a barbarian who doesn't bathe everyday with soap—

Anyway, so, I'm out of Lothering and it's just after Guardian.

Sort of miss the Hawkes—

Didn't even get to say goodbye to Dad Hawke—

Wonder what they told Leandra—

Is it weird that I don't want Leliana to forget about the rude elf she taught to read—

I'll set off at first daylight.

 _[In the margins of the page are three cartoonish drawings of Bethany Hawke, Carver Hawke and Garrett Hawke. Bethany has large, teary eyes and her hands clasped together in front of her chest. Carver is comically scowling and has steam-lines coming out of his forehead. Garrett is showcasing his over-exaggerated muscles, teeth shining as he grins at the reader. In the top left-corner is an indiscriminate Chantry Sister with bob-cut hair standing in front of a pointy-eared figure with a ruler in her hand. The caption says 'teacher' in Common. It is the first Common word to appear in the journal.]_

.

* * *

.

9:30 Dragon  
Entry—  
.

Got fucking lost again so I have to stop by the nearest landmark and get my shit together, which happens to be Lake Calenhad, which sucks because I can see that dumbass Circle tower and it looks exactly like I thought it would. Generally pissed off at the world, don't know what's got me in such a fucking mood.

 _I'm_ getting sick of myself.

Think Skeletor's contemplating running away to live a life of feline solitude to stop me glaring at it whenever it breathes. That would just make me angry _and_ sad so I hope the fucker _doesn't_ do that. Seriously, I'll—

Shit no wait I can hear something—

No, it's nothing. Yikes, twitchy much? I think I miss Sister Leliana and Bethy and Garrett and even that Asshole? Which is... humiliating to admit. I don't want to talk about it.

Never mind. Yes to writing down your feelings. I guess I'm maybe lonely? I'll get used to it. Maybe if I'm lucky the next town I squat in will have a family of suspicious anti-Templar twin siblings and a bear-man that'll immediately adopt me into their ranks.

I don't think anyone could replace Sister Leliana though. Something about her was just... different from other Sisters? If that makes any goddamn sense. Probably not. I'm a dumb fuc—

? ? ?

That smell—

I swear to _God_ I can hear—

wait no i... i fuckni _know_ that smell—

 **holy shit** —

 _[There is a long line of charcoal cutting through the rest of the page, as though the writer was startled and jerked his hand. There is dirt stained on the parchment from when Mihren discarded the journey onto muddy grassy, along with bits of clumped charcoal. There is also spotted black blood that stains the top right-corners of the rest of the journal starting from this page.]_

 _._


	2. Grey Men Come In XXXL

.

Excerpts from Mihren's Journal: From Origins to Inquisition

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* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry—

 _[This page is covered in unlabelled drawings of what appear to be darkspawn. They have been sketched by a shaky hand, and there are many spots of the page smudged by what we can only assume are tears. Towards the end of the page, the drawings stop, and the author has senselessly scribbled, the action desperate and angry. You can see the indentations of their actions through to ten pages.]_

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* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry—  
.

 _[There is a poor drawing of a grey-skinned giant occupying the middle of the page. The drawing is labelled with what appear to be injuries and possible cures. Most cures are captioned with multiple question marks or 'Elfroot'. According to the drawing, the odds of the patient surviving are slim.]_

Ox-man's got it rough.

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* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry—  
.

Running low on Elfroot (ox-man burns through healing properties like a fuckin furnace), stores of royal Elfroot are non-existent, collect spindleweed along the docks ASAP, laurel's prophet (guy keeps getting nightmares),

 _[This entry is unfinished.]_

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* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry—  
.

—found six (6) units o/ royal Elfroot (thought this shit is supposed to be rare?)

—crystal bell flower thing found, will experiment to see if it does anything

—got my ten (10) units o/ spindleweed

—found one (1) black lotus (just in case ya know)

—a fuckton of Elfroot

selling them for coin, see if I can't save for a med kit

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* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry—  
.

 _[The writer appears to be very frustrated. Any words written on the journal are indecipherable. One phrase that makes frequent appearances is 'oh god he is so dead'.]_

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* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry—  
.

distil. agent — twelve (12) silvers

flask — one (1) silver

Elfroot — collect sunrise

method — ? ? ? ?

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* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry—  
.

 **Prowlers** – Casper the Fucking Prick type assholes. WILL harass you from a distance, don't fucking fall for it. they wear like, no armor, and if you protect your back they almost always get impatient and try to slip a knife in your armpit. Try being keyword. Never works. +100 Badass points.  
*Always assume a team has a prowler. There's less to do about replacing armor that way

 **Archers** – Gotta crank weapon after each shot; get cover, make him waste shot, charge. Close quarters combat fucks them up every time 'cause they're squishy. Bitch slap dazes them so they don't try any sneaky rogue shit, finish them off. These guys are the trickiest? If they have short bow prepare for them to fire when you're up in their faces, they can't resist that shit  
*If many: flank, choose one, use him as shield. never leave back unprotected - _**BAD SHIT HAPPENS, REN**_. better stamina but they can't take the hits. Weak.

 **Warriors** – (NO SHIELD) Watch hips and shoulders. Assholes try to distract you with fancy hand &feet movements but they just do that to fuck with you. Armbrace and gauntlets as shield, control weapon and you control him. Like Pinocchio but with more blood.  
(SHIELD AND SWORD) Mark distance and don't react to any ( **ANY!** ) dickhead outside of reach. They have shields, they recover quicker than me and Gigantor do. Faking a stuttered step confuses them most of the time, makes them lower their shield and rush into range. **Butcher 'em**.  
(BRUISER) Watch shoulders and hips. Only look at gigantic fucking mauls so you know how far you have to dodge to avoid own brain splatter. No tougher than any other guy, good old bludgeon knocks them down as it would any other fucker.

 **Mages** – Close ranks or they'll rain hell on me from a distance and I'll be annoyed because they do nothing to me. Watch hands and arms. Tackle the fuckers if you have to; not cool but it stops them from being annoying. Easiest guys to kill because they were no armor and magic doesn't touch me.

 _[There is a series of random doodles that appear to have no relevance to the content of the journal, such as a black cat with white mittens, a fox, and a sleeping druffalo.]_

I'm

so

 **fucked**.

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* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Thirty Five  
.

 _[The page has the words 'LEERROOYY JEENNNKINSS' repeated all over the page in between the many exclamation marks and dollar signs. There is nothing else written.]_

* * *

Raiding a well-fortified bandit camp wasn't easy, but after I ironically ambushed and cut down the first rogue and stripped him of his armor for myself, it became a bearable nightmare. I didn't find any appeal in the heavy armor the typical warriors wore, and as an elf with mysterious strength and a mysteriously gigantic sword, I was more efficient when I could dance out of people's guards and then thrust Gigantor into their fleshy parts.

The archers, though...the archers were real assholes. There was no enjoyment in taking them out, especially when I'd close ranks only for them to kick dirt into my face or kick me in the crown jewels. They're just so fucking irritating, I was all too glad to fuck them up for life (and death, as it was). I felt more like a butcher flinging Gigantor around than I did a soldier but, eh. At least I'm alive to be upset about it — can't say the same for the bandits.

I looted every single dead body there for coin. Out of pigheaded determination, I found my seventy silvers and promptly took it straight to the merchant I'd...befriended.

He was this sad looking guy that looked like he could do with a few vegetables and, you know, sunlight in general. His red hair was wicked though, if only because it was so unnaturally vibrant for such a dull looking guy. I met him after I nearly had my ass handed to me by a hoard of darkspawn — I'd found him picking the bones of the weird ox-men and...well, there's no other word for it. I straight up intimidated him into sticking around. He didn't move on until I did, and I didn't move on until I had no other use for him.

Took the Greatsword he was trying to sneak away with, too. I didn't use it— Gigantor is the only one for me— but I might sell it for the right price. It was a real beauty, even I could tell and I didn't know jack shit.

Due to Faryn's entire life being in my hands, I got a nice discount for his products. The 'health poultice' was a recipe I took without paying for but because I didn't want to rob the guy of his livelihood, I did go out of my way to produce enough money for a first aid kid: Thedas Edition. Hence, my presence at the bandit camp.

I'm just glad the bandits weren't nice guys. It's been a few months, my birthday is coming up, but I still have morals, no matter how loose they are. But there's no remorse in decapitating the dude you know abused his daughter, you know? If anything, I did the world a favour, getting rid of them for no reward.

Like, yeah, if you kill a murderer then the amount of murderers in the world remains the same. But if you kill, like, a bunch of murderers...I think the numbers speak for themselves. I did the statistics a favor. Thedas will thank me one day.

Faryn was waiting for me outside his tent with a sullen look on his face. He tried to appeal to my 'sense of humanity' the first couple days, begging me to let him go and sell his 'previously owned goods', but I gleefully reminded him that, as an elf, I technically didn't have any sense of humanity to appeal to. It was a good victory.

I unceremoniously threw a pouch of seventy silvers at him and grabbed the first aid kit. It looked more like a bunch of bandages and, like, five pieces of Elfroot thrown into a leather pouch but I wasn't in the place to complain. The health poultices I was cooking up like a fucking boss were doing alright, but magic wasn't waking the guy up, so I figured it was time to do things like a normal person. Clean his wounds, bandage the lacerations, all that boring gross icky shit.

"Can I go now?" Faryn asked. He'd been shooting looks at the pathway lately, so I took extra care not to wash my armor of the blood. Extra intimidation, you know? You don't pass on that sort of shit.

"Nah." I replied, and took a smaller first aid kit for good luck. Faryn glared like he wanted to set me on fire, just so he could sit there with a flask of water and watch me burn, but not even mages could manage that so I don't know how he thought he was going to achieve that. "At ease, my man. The giant will wake up soon and then you can go on and live your life as a criminal. Try and be a little patient."

Faryn's face was completely flat as he said, "You just butchered a fortress of bandits and I'm the criminal?"

"I'm not judging, no need for that tone."

"I've been parked here, losing money, for two weeks now. I need to go— hey!"

I turned away from his complaining and flipped him off without looking back, calling: "Keep it fresh, Faryn!" as I walked towards my humble abode.

I was squatting in this twice-condemned hut that looked like a plague had rolled through it. I was pretty sure I wasn't going to die of HIV shuffling around it so that's where I dragged the half-dead giant because I selfishly began to nurse him back to health.

Because I'm nice like that.

Not that Faryn would agree with me, but Faryn was a criminal who tried to steal the giant's sword when he was still alive.

'Wow, Ren,' you may say, 'aren't you being a bit harsh on this fella? It's only a sword, and the giant was as good as dead anyway!' Yeah, well, fuck that. If that was me and some lowlife tried to take Gigantor, I wouldn't be peachy keen on their continued existence. I would literally wake up with their slow, brutal murder on my mind.

I'm doing the guy a favour, teaching him a lesson! All that garbage about good intentions! I doubt he'll prowl around stealing weapons from still-alive-warriors now, right? I'm a generous guy.

With the injury kits and my guesswork-application of homemade health potions, there was a visible improvement on the giant's chances almost immediately. I kept at it, changing bandages and shoving Elfroot tea down the guy's throat when I wasn't experimenting with being witchy and brewing actual fucking potions.

And finally, after two and a half weeks of ignorantly slaving over him, the ox-man woke up.

I was sitting there trying to figure out the concentration of Elfroot in a health poultice that improve the efficiency when he returned to the land of the living. Screaming, by the way. Well, more like roaring, and thrashing around and being a general monster and disturbing my peace. I almost jumped.

Actually, I did jump, and I spilled my possibly-improved health poultice all over my "workbench". It was disheartening.

"Dude, what the fuck! Stop yelling!" I yelled, whipping around. The ox-man was...certainly intimidating, half-wild and roaring like I'd ripped off his fucking junk or something. "Chill the fuck out! Oh my god!"

That was about when he started spewing words of a language I didn't understand at all. I mean, it sounded alright, I guess, but when you're being snarled at by a grey man twice your everything, the cadence of a foreign language doesn't appeal to you quite as much. I sat there blankly listening to him scream, not moving an inch least he start frantically searching the room, hoping not to make a target of myself.

Yeah, no, didn't work.

His bloodshot eyes landed on me. I had a split second to catalogue the abandon in his eyes and leap out of the way of his vicious charge. Gigantor was nearby, so I armed myself quickly even as I nimbly jumped over the bed and escaped out the door. The foreign-speaking ox-man followed me, making a ruckus all the while. Christ, he was a bruiser, definitely.

"Ashkost asala-dan, bas! Kadan! Asala!"

"I literally have no idea what you're on about!"

"Where is Asala!"

"Oh, good, you do speak— holy shit man!" You spend half a month nursing a guy back to health and this is how you're repayed? "Did you just try to— you tried to tackle me! You prick!" I lost my patience with it fairly quickly. Angry charging bull of a man or no, I was the one with a pointy end to stick him with. As soon as this sunk in, I stopped running, and stood my ground, wrapping my hands around the worn hilt of Gigantor.

Even in his frantic panic, the giant understood what my stance meant.

He just about skidded to a stop, panting and snarling like a rabid dog. I narrowed my eyes, gnawing on my bottom lip anxiously. I raised my eyebrows when the giant stood there, near hyperventilating and weary. "You gonna stop attacking me now?"

A snarl.

"Wow, eloquent, you're sure helping your case." I watched his hips turn, and his shoulders tense, and swung Gigantor in a circle to limber my wrist. "Yeah, buddy, might want to stop considering whatever it is you're considering. You're gigantic, but I'm the one with the sword here."

Something flashed across the giant's face. He stood silently. I didn't assume that meant he was docile. I'm not stupid. I stayed there with Gigantor ready and read what I could off his face, which, you know, not much. I wouldn't want to face him in poker is what I'm saying, you know? He had an intense face that didn't fit his empty eyes. It was like he wasn't even alive, kind of?

I didn't know how to put it. I'd never seen someone so without purpose. I didn't realize that was what it did to your eyes, either.

I swallowed loudly, my throat clicking, and lowered my sword. I could bring it back up at a moment's notice, but here's hoping my message was communicated clearly enough. You don't hurt me, I won't stab you and erase all my hard work, yeah? That type of shit.

Wearily, I asked, "You got a name, my man?"

Silence.

Okay, cool. Understandable, even if it grated on my nerves. I hated being given the cold shoulder. "Yikes, right, okay. Nah, I get it. No I don't actually but fuck it anyway. We— hmm… Alright. You remember the darkspawn? Don't give me that look, I was there, I helped with them after you got knocked the fuck out. So you remember them, yeah?"

"Yes."

"Oh, god, your voice really is that deep. I thought it was like— you know how sometimes when people yell their voices get all deep and intimidating but when they speak normally it's like they inhaled a canister of helium? But, no, it's— you're good, you're all one-hundred-percent intimidating. Just in case you didn't know."

Giant didn't look like he understood anything I said at all. Payback, for when he was roaring at me earlier about shit I didn't have the first clue about. "Speak plainly, human." Human? I wasn't about to correct him, that was for sure. I was human, after all.

I rolled my eyes and gestured ambiguously outside the window. "I finished off the hoard that you and your friends—" The giant somehow managed to tense even more, mouth pinching down into a frown. I wondered how it didn't occur to me earlier. "— Oh fuck, of course, dude, I'm so s— the others were dead, you were the only one with a pulse. I— oh damn. Man. Were they your… you three looked really similar, freaky similar now that I think about it—"

"They were my brothers." Said the giant, ice-cold and poker-face on. He said nothing else. Man of a few words, or maybe that was the shock of losing his brothers?

I felt really awkward. I carried on my explanation, of course, because he probably deserved that much. Didn't stop me from feeling a bit inadequate. It wasn't my fault that his brothers were dead but I still felt shitty anyway. It was the proximity to the tragedy that made me stink of depression all of a sudden. To lose all of that at once— I couldn't say that I didn't understand.

"I ended up passing out after I killed the last one. Woke up not too long after and dragged your ten thousand pound body to the nearest empty hut to patch you up. Oh, and I stopped this slimy guy from robbing you and your… brothers of your armor and swords and shit— they're just in the pantry if you're wonderin', had nowhere else to put them— er, okay —" This was said as the giant promptly dropped his guarded stance and flew off towards the kitchen.

I watched him, dutifully continuing my report, "— but apart from that, no issues apart from your body straight-up refusing to get better."

I heard the sounds of cluttering, the giant whispering in that language, and then presumably he began to put back on his fancy golden armor. Must be a proper soldier with equipment like that, now that I thought about it. It'd be nice if I was, you know, rewarded for my dedication to his health. I do have a quest of my own that I put on halt to do my yearly good deed.

"You're a bit of a shit patient, yeah? No matter how much Elfroot I plugged you full of, your body was just like, 'no thanks', and it was a pain in the ass for me. I had to learn how to make a health poultice and pay for an injury kit to fix you. And then as soon as you came back to the waking world you attacked me— kind of shit of you, bro."

The giant came out from the kitchen with his armor half on. There were buckles and straps that he couldn't manage without someone else's help. Of course, that didn't stop him from trying. I watched him bemusedly. He said, "You talk too much."

"You're not the first to say so, though I reckon you're the first to say it to my face. I don't know what it is about me that makes people not want to insult me while I'm listenin', but you're kind of a welcome change. Better than you killing me too, you know? Also, nice sword."

The giant paused. Then he looked up, met my eyes gravely, and said, "Thank you. She is Asala."

Oh, nice. I still had Gigantor out to play and waved him carelessly in the air. "Nice. This one is Gigantor."

"Gigantor? Does that mean something in Common?"

"Er, yeah, dude, it means 'fucking huge'. Because that's what it is. Fucking huge. Good sword, my Gigantor. The first one I ever got, you know? I've killed loads of shitheads with better Greatswords but I can't seem to give Gigantor up. We have a bond, you feel? Can't just abandon him for the next big thing."

The giant was squinting at me suspiciously. "I understand. My Asala is a blade forged specifically for my hand alone. She is my soul. Without her, I am not worthy of the beresaad. If you had not returned her to me, human, I would not have been able to return to Seheron."

I had so many questions instantly. "Seheron?"

"It is my home in the north, across the Waking Sea. It is the home of the Qunari."

"Qunari? Is that what your kind is called?"

"Yes."

"Never heard of you. Why're you called that?"

"Because we follow the Qun."

"… and the Qun is?"

"A way of life."

"Like, a religion?"

"Yes."

"Okay, that's cool. Anyway, are you going to tell me your name now or… not?"

"I am called the sten."

"The sten? With the article and everything?" The sten just looked at me. "I'm not judging. Well, I'm kind of judging but I can't really help that, I'm from a judgemental species, but I'll respect it. You're not going to kill me if I put away Gigantor, are you, the sten?"

The sten shook his head. "I will not." I wasn't surprised when he didn't elaborate further on that. I could already tell that the sten was a terse guy, short and shit, you know? Doesn't like to waste words. I didn't mind it much. I wasted enough words for the both of us and then some.

"I'm stupidly trusting you here." I said, and then Gigantor's reassuring weight was at my back again. I rolled my shoulder and ran my fingers through my hair. "Well, since we're finish—"

The sten interrupted. "You are an elf." He stated, and yet, I felt like I was expected to explain myself.

I blinked. "Yeah, I am. So wha—oh, yeah, I forgot to correct you earlier. Doesn't matter." Ever since my curly brown hair had grown longer, my ears were hidden unless I showcased them, which I typically tried not to do. Intimidation only worked when you weren't a 'knife-ear'. Even though they _were_ great for intimidation. My ears had seen some shit. "You're a Qunari. S'not a big deal."

The sten frowned. "I have never known an elf to wield a Greatsword with the ease and skill that you do. Are you sure you are an elf?"

"Mysteriously enough, yes, I am definitely an elf. The humans like to remind me of it constantly."

"Were you taught by another elven two-handed warrior?"

"Nah, I quite literally picked this up all by myself. I started teaching myself on the road aboooouuuttt seven months ago?" The sten's brow raised. I grinned. "It's impressive, right? I impress myself every time I come out of a fight with my head on my shoulders."

"Someone has to be."

It took me a moment. Then I was caught between insulted and … nothing else. Just insulted. "Oh, wow, he's got jokes. Shocking." The sten didn't even react proudly. He just stood there, radiating some sort of indecipherable aura. I stuck my tongue out at him. He looked disapproving. "Well, whatever. You're breathing and not homicidal, my duty is done."

"Duty?" The sten tilted his head. "You are a healer, then, as well as a child."

A chil—

"I've decapitated too many people to be considered a child, the sten. And I'm no healer, either."

"It is not the duty of a warrior to heal a stricken stranger. That is the duty of a healer." He paused. "And anyone without purpose is a child, regardless of age or experience in battle."

I felt my face warm. I clenched my fists at my side and took in a steady breath. "You continue thinkin' that, see if I care. My duty to you was out of the goodness of my heart, by the way. I'm no healer. Now, if we're done here — Skeletor!" My rage was abruptly smothered as Skeletor, black furred and white mittened, pounced through the broken window on my left.

Skeletor greeted me with a meow. The sten slowly returned Asala to her sheath, watching Skeletor intently.

"A cat." He said. "Her name is Skeletor?"

"King of skeletons," I said, scooping the kitten into my arms. She mewled in displeasure at the feel of my leather armor against her fur, so I put her on my shoulder. She dug her claws into the straps there to keep herself steady, sparing my sensitive skin the experience. "She's going to be a fierce warrior when she's bigger."

The sten looked unflappable. "Cats cannot be warriors."

"Well, you can take that and shove it up your ass, because Skeletor's going to be the fiercest warrior this side of Thedas has ever seen. She'll even kick your ass one day to prove it." I huffed, scratching under Skeletor's chin to make up for that slight about her honour.

The sten looked disapproving again. Jesus. And in other news: water is wet! "You take your cat into the battlefield with you?"

"Yes, of course I do, because I'm a total idiot like that who can't be trusted with the life of another living being. Christ, you prick. No, of course not. Skeletor's smart, she skedaddles away before I even know I'm about to walk into an attack and hides until I've dealt with the trash. Intelligent, right? She's about as smart as your average tax collector."

"Indeed," The sten rumbled, and then he sent me a short, suspicious glance. Without further ado, he came forward with his hand outstretched. Skeletor leaped from my shoulder, landed all soft-like on the table in front of the sten's hand. She pushed her nose up into his gauntlets happily, purring up a storm. The sten, of course, looked very pleased with himself, and turned over his palm to stroke down her back.

I was stood there in horrible shock.

"There is a Blight." The sten abruptly said. I jumped half out of my skin. I'd figured we were going to stand there in silence as he charmed my cat all the way over to Seheron. "As talented as a warrior as you believe yourself to be, you will die instantly when you encounter a hoard. You should stay away from the fighting."

Seriously? I felt my temper shortening at an alarmingly fast rate. "I will not." I said coolly, shoulders at my ears. "I have a— a duty. A purpose, I guess? Like a Sasuke-Uchiha-tier type ambition. I will not sit idly by and wait for the fucking Blight to pass over me when I can fight it off and continue doing what I plan on doing. A few darkspawn aren't going to stop me."

The sten made a grumbling noise. "Admirable resolution. The fibre of your character, of course, will not matter when you are dead and the darkspawn have savaged your corpse and robbed you of your Gigantor, but still admirable." It was objectively hilarious to hear a guy like the sten say the word 'Gigantor' but I certainly wasn't laughing. I was still debating whether I could take him on in a fight— likely not, now that he was all armed and dangerous, but fuck, was I gonna try. "You will needlessly waste your future potential by fighting the Blight?"

"Fuck, why the hell not? It's Tuesday, ain't it?"

The sten sent me another reproving look. Then he straightened his back, now cradling Skeletor against his massive chest. Skeletor was content with the position so long as she was pet, which was exactly what the sten did. Pet my cat and glower at me like I'd just gone and destroyed the entire world. News flash: I'm not even from this world. Why the hell would I go out of my way to destroy it? I'm too lazy for that.

He started towards the door and said, "Gather your belongings. We will leave now."

I stood there.

Did I hear that…?

I whirled around and watched as he left the house with my Skeletor in his arms. "'We'? Who said you were coming with?"

"I did. Just then. Is your hearing impaired, elf, or are you simply stupid?"

"Don't be fucking rude. You don't even know where I'm going! I don't know anythin' about you! What if you flip out and decide to try and kill me again?"

"I will not attempt to kill you unless you deserve it."

"And I'm supposed to trust your judgement on that, am I?" I said sarcastically. The sten was already outside the condemned hut, and getting further and further away. He passed Faryn without a second glance, and Faryn watched him go with bulging eyes. "Oi, wait— give me back my ca— _shite_! Slow _down_ , Ginormo!"

I threw myself into the room and grabbed my packed belongs, stuffing my flasks, distiller agents, and blood-stained journal in as I scrambled out of the hut. I shouldered my meagre pack and kicked up dust as I sprinted to catch up with the sten. He had a very long stride, and I wasn't nearly as tall as him.

I waved as I ran past Faryn. "See you never again, buddy!"

"Does this mean I can leave?!" Faryn shouted at my retreating back. As per usual, I flipped him off without looking back. I heard him make an overjoyed shout. "Finally, I'm free!" What a drama queen. I wasn't going to miss him a bit.

I made it to then sten's side easily. I stopped on his left and huffed, reaching over and plucking Skeletor from his arms and cradling her in my own possessively. The sten glanced at me, made this judgey face, and then turned back to the road. "Where is our destination, elf?"

"It's _Ren_ , and, I don't know. The nearest town?"

The sten screwed his mouth up. "You said you have purpose."

I frowned up at him. "Not all purposes come with handwritten instructions, dickhead. I need to read about—certain subjects."

"Why?"

"Because I like to read? Because I want to be the only person in Thedas to have read every donated book the Chantry has to offer? Does it matter?"

"Yes. Answer quickly, and make it good, elf."

The sten sounded pretty serious then, so I glanced at him wearily, and turned my attention solely to Skeletor. Softly, hoping he would miss it over the gently rustling of the breeze, I replied: "To get home." The sten turned his head to look at me, intelligent eyes waiting. I sighed. "I need to go home."

"Are you a very long way from your home, elf?"

"It's _Ren_ and—and yes. Yes I am. But I'm going back, as soon as I am able. I just… need to figure out how."

The sten was quiet for a long moment. I considered the topic dropped and stared ahead, mentally consulting the map I didn't understand but tracked my journey with nevertheless. There was an upcoming town on the other side of Lake Calenhad, five days away, give or take. It would have a Chantry for me to pick at like an old scab. That was my direction for now.

And then the sten surprised me by asking, lowly, "If all you desire is to return home, why do you fight?"

I frowned at that. It's not because I like to, or because I have any particular talent. I fight simply because… "'Cause I gotta, man. Just how it is." It was either that, or death, and I didn't want to fall upon that as my first option.

Yes. Good answer, Ren.

The sten nodded gravely. "You may yet live to see the end of this Blight after all, elf."

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Thirty Six  
.

I am now travelling with a real living person (not hallucination, I checked) and my only friend is _still_ my cat.

The bright side is that this time, the lack of a Common speaking friend isn't my fault. It's the sten's! Can't talk to the guy because he's shorter than a dwarf when it comes to conversation and I can't talk because he starts giving me frost bite, he's so chilly. My easy-going nature is being blatantly challenged. I'm going to fucking fight this guy, I swear to god. I'm going to snap.

I'm begging for a distraction at this point. Anything would be better than Ginormo and his scintillating presence.

There's this irritating bird singing overhead and I'm going to kill it, I will, nothing short of dea—

 _[The sentence is abruptly cut off.]_

Ginormo is a git so I'm going to call him 'G' from now on. I told him this and he gave me a look that would make lesser men kill themselves. Little does G know...I was at the mercy of a blood mage for (insert unknown time frame here)...I'm fearless.

Set up a watch schedule for the first time in my life. Was pretty anticlimactic, we only had to divide it in two, but that I got to experience it at all was fucking superb. G's taking first watch so after I write a bit I'll—

 _[The next word is interrupted by a line of charcoal going down the page.]_

SKELETOR YOU SHITFUCK

Whatever I don't care anymore I'm knocking tf out. Waking up for second watch won't be fun.

pce out.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Thirty Seven  
.

Fought the creatures from Satan's asshole again. G was pretty vicious, ploughed into them with a single-minded determination to slaughter that I have frankly never witnessed before in my life. I'm in _awe_ of him. I am _pretty_ awesome at this two-handed sword fighting bullshit but G is an entirely different level. No wonder he thinks I'm a shivering kitten of uselessness.

Also, did I mention? In the middle (actually towards the end but details) of this exciting little skirmish, I was forced to recognize that him and his bear-body fit one of the one conditions I have for crushin' hard on someone!

… Awkward.

Realized that he had big biceps when a darkspawn thought it'd be cool to pick me up and leg it. He had to slice the legs out from under it. "You are incompetent," Him and his growly voice growled. "Don't let the darkspawn capture you again."

What am I supposed to do to stop them? Put a finger in their face and sing 'darkspawn no darkspawning!'? Do I look like I have a singing backpack, pal?

"Are we not going to wonder why the fuck the darkspawn decided to King Kong my ass?" I asked.

"Who is King Kong?" was the reply. Thanks, G. Nice to know you care.

Don't know what I'm supposed to do about these feelings. Wait for them to disappear?

That won't take long. All I have to do is try and start a conversation with the ox.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Thirty Nine  
.

Stopped at a bakery to buy some cookies. Had about two minutes to enjoy them before G laid into me (not in a good way). He was all, 'what are those? I have never seen them before! The Qunari do not waste time with sweets such as these! They smell impractical! Spirit them away if they have no use to your quest, elf!'

Left them on top of my pack so I could go piss and when I returned they were mysteriously nowhere to be found.

Would bet Gigantor that he forced Skeletor to eat them to prove a point. If he didn't have biceps the size of my head, I would loathe that man passionately.

Apart from that, day was boring. G asked why I couldn't go home so I told him the truth. He was like, 'Your jokes are not amusing, elf.' so I didn't correct him. S'not like I'm talking out of my ass here, right?

He's probably just going to up and leave during his watch and I won't even realize until I wake up alone.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Forty  
.

G's angry at me for being broke.

Let's repeat that for the people in the back: G is angry at me for being dirt poor.

 _Actually_ , he's angry at me for running into a bear trap and not being properly equipped to avoid major injury and am therefore indisposed of until my leg heals, but, you know: he's angry at me for not being able to afford better armor.

So technically he's angry at me for being poor.

I told him to suck twenty dicks at once. He gave me the strangest look. "That's unrealistic," Says G. "Not if you're determined," I politely informed him. We're eating at the fire and he still keeps sending me confused looks. I think he's trying to wonder how my mouth could open that wide.

If he asks, I won't be responsible for the ensuing come on.

I'm a teenager from the year twenty-sixteen, innuendos are my safe place.

I'll be needing to coach G through the process of looking after a wound according to Thedas' lacking medical knowledge. We'll be held up for a while until everything heals up nicely. My ankles are fragile. They didn't deserve this.

Fun times are afoot.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Forty Seven  
.

In a marvelous turn of events, G has broken his arm after having a Hurlock (or so he tells me they're called I suspect he's fucking with me) snap it in half with their motherfuckin' shield. I don't even want to know how strong the Hurlock had to be to get through G's fancy beresaad armor, but shit, at the end of the day, G's the one with the broken arm. He still managed to gut the ugly fuck though! No need to panic!

Do you know how hot it is to watch someone lift a two-handed Greatsword with one arm Jesus Chr—

We'll have to stop at the next town for longer than usual. Contrary to G's protests, he honestly can't fight with a broken arm. He's just being a stubborn dumb fuck. He'll learn to sit quietly and heal.

Anyway, Redcliffe a-hoy! Hope they got some rockin' healers, but I won't get my hopes up. Healers are a dime in a dozen in Thedas. Don't know why, probably because no one in Thedas enjoys long healthy lives? They can be idiots I don't care, I'm learning all I can about plants and shit. Elfroot is my best friend. Sorry, Skeletor.

Heard some rumors about something called a 'Grey Warden' being traitors. Have to ask what the hell those are when G isn't sullenly staring into the fire and very aggressively ignoring my existence. Swell.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Forty Eight  
.

"Grey Wardens are well-respect warriors. Even in Seheron, Qunari have heard tales of their amazingness they're so brilliant and strong and the sun shines out of their assholes! I find it hard to believe that they could ever be traitors because I'm in love with every Grey Warden a hur hur hur"

 _[The rest of the page contains unflattering doodles of a hornless, scowling Qunari male.]_

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Forty Nine  
.

Can see Redcliffe castle from here. I'd tell you all about it except I'm pissed off at G, who is a giant whiny loser baby. Uggghhh. I'm going to tie a stone to his leg and throw him in Lake Calenhad. It's the least he deserves for being such a supreme asshole.

If Skeletor didn't disapprove, I would have abandoned him last week—

If he doesn't stop throwing himself into every battle we find ourselves in I may have to put myself out of my suffering and kill him in his sleep. He keeps upsetting his arm. Every time I think 'this is it! it's going to be healed tomorrow morning!' he fucks something up. Does he think I can't handle myself? Does he think he has to keep hurting himself to keep me safe? I'm not a fucking child. I know what I'm doing.

Asshole.

Whatever. We'll be in Redcliffe by tomorrow. Just spend a night outside their walls and then we'll barge in and inhale everything they have to offer. Neat. Hashtag, bitchin'.  
 _  
[There are many doodles occupying the rest of the page. All doodles depict multiple ways for the sten to die creatively at Mihren's hand. Some of them are quite brutal.]_

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Fifty (Forty Nine? It's just sunset)  
.

First watch notes: this is _so_ _boring_.

G's going to kill me if he finds out that I'm not really focusing on the watching aspect of 'watch'. I'll get a lecture about the Qun again. No thanks. I don't even like Andrastian religion, why would I care about the religion across the water? Priorities.

It's still day time though so like...it's not my fault he wanted to go to sleep early because he's super tired from continuously re-breaking his arm. Dumbass.

Would kill for my iPod. Hummed Gorillaz 'Feel Good Inc' to myself as we set up camp. G—surprise surprise!—disapproved of it.

Buzzzzkkkiiiiilllll.

There's no foxes hanging around Redcliffe castle. Shit load of spindleweed though. I'll be checking those out when it's daylight. Next daylight. It's still technically daylight but G's sleepin' so I can't move.

Reminder: check spindleweed out when it's morning

oh yikes just got a bad case of the shivers

I really miss toilet paper?

I don't know if that's anxiety in my stomach or if I just need to go for a shit. Probably the last one. My stomach was pampered, and now it's suffering through Thedas food. Not enough vegetables, too much bread. I didn't take biology but I'm pretty sure my body needs more than bread to survive.

Batman would be the King of Thedas. Iron Man would also be the King of Thedas, but he'd hate it just on principle because he's a rich tit.

Black Widow would be bitchin'. Her and Hawkeye would fit right in, except better. They'd rule the world in their own spy-way. What I would give to see that. Their child would be terrifying. A red headed assassin who was super hot and sneaky but who could shoot you in the eye three blocks away, you know?

Just realized I have never encountered a pigeon my entire time in Thedas where are the pigeons what has Thedas done with them

Do pigeons straight up no exist? Are they the earth-version of dragons?

Are dragons even real or is G being a dick again

THE SUN HAS SET. GOODNIGHT, BABY SUN.

Skel—

 _[There is a large dot where the rest of the unfinished word should be, as though Mihren has paused mid-writing with his charcoal still on the page.]_

um creepy fog approaching do not think that is supposed to be happening

G WAKE UP—

 _[The entry abruptly ends.]_

.


	3. Gigantor Has A Son (Also: Grey Wardens?)

.

Excerpts from Mihren's Journal: From Origins to Inquisiton

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon

Entry Fifty Two

.

There should be a warning sign or a little pop-up or freakin' _something_ on the road to this shitty village that _warns people about this nonsense._ It isn't impossible. I mean, I know this backwater country hates consideration, but _god damn_.

Zombies? _Zombies!_ Because why the shit not? We have pointy-eared pansies and grey ox men/sentinels and Satan LOTR Orcs, so why not zombies?

Well, I didn't want zombies. Okay?! I didn't want zombies! There, I said it! They're fuck ugly and hideous and they _reek_ (my nose hairs _shriveled_ ) and they're dirty filthy cheaters. I DIDN'T WANT THIS.

SERIOUSLY, REDCLIFFE. SIGNAGE. It isn't hard to flick a little cautionary notice!

'Welcome To Redcliffe! Population: **UNDEAD.** '

'Redcliffe: 5 Miles Ahead. Also 5 Miles Ahead: Walking Dead Zombies Except Ten Times Worse Because These Motherfuckers Are Armed.'

'Redcliffe! Home to the most homicidal non-living creatures in Thedas!'

Hell, I would have settled for a: 'Welcome To Redcliffe! For some reason, everyone keeps leaving' because at least I'd go in prepared for some funky shit. Maybe not _**zombies**_ , but—

Shit, man.

 _Shit_.

G's hurt pretty bad (dumb lug called me "less useful than a twig" because apparently a twig could be used to bludgeon someone) ((sidenote: I do not think me and G have the same definition for 'twig')). He also weighs, like, a _billion_ pounds.

Do you know how hard it is to drag around a Qunari who wakes up from his Life Threatening Injuries every few minutes with the sole purpose of tearing your arms off? Do you _know_?

 _It isn't fun._

I died like seven times getting G to safety.

There better be a doctor in this swamp town. If there isn't, I'm gonna have to start cracking _heads_. I'm not playing anymore, dudes. Shit. Is. _Serious_.

.

* * *

.

9 _:_ 30 Dragon

Entry Fifty Three

.

Hey no offense to anyone in particular but if I'm ordered around by a human one more time, I will start the systematic slaughter of everyone in this town.

I told G of my plans (screw plausible deniability; he's coming down with me). He told me that it would be, "characteristically unwise of me." Got offended until he reminded me why I was cleaning black blood from Gigantor and corpse matter from Skeletor's fur.

(Skeletor has been warming G's chest for the past week. Traitor. I'm getting a new cat.)

But yeah.

Undead.

Come every night, leave by morning, they're like vampires but uglier. Also, they don't sparkle (that I've _noticed_ ). Good news is that because they're, like, dead and everything they're pretty weak. Bad news is that I'm also pretty weak.

It's kind of like watching two toddlers attempt a fist fight but because their muscle sucks all they end up doing is flapping their little baby arms around while screaming. Except in this scenario the babies have swords. And one of the babies is actually three dozen babies with actual armor, and the other baby still can't read that well.

All in all, things are going well.

.

* * *

.

9:30 Dragon

Entry Fifty Four

.

Real talk: am I a _dumbass?_

The doctor I was harrassing for medical supplies just dumped me on my ass. _Apparently_ , my 'ox friend' (only _I'm_ allowed to point out his ox-ness, bitch!) is sucking up "valuable resources" that could be put to "better use" """elsewhere""".

 _ **WHAT.**_

WHERE THE HELL ELSE IS BETTER ? ? ? ?

I knocked her on her ass for it and then locked her out of the hut. The hut isn't mine btw I'm borrowing it. (I think one of the dead guys I fight every night used to own it so I mean, fair's fair). Anyways.

No doctor. No health packs or whatever. Haven't seen an Elfroot for a while (they don't grow around here at all it's fucking inconvenient) but if I was ever interested in making some dumbass _spindleweed_ potion or whatever… this would be the ultimate source for it.

Except _no one needs spindleweed._ It's a USELESS FUCKING PLANT. IT DOES NOTHING. IT EXISTS TO DO _JACK SHIT_.

 _[There are many deep, angry scribbles.]_

I need to figure something out.

.

* * *

.

9:30 Dragon

Entry Fifty Five

.

Skeletor ate my boots?

How the hell did my _cat_ consume _leather_ —

Whatever. No shoes. I do not give a single fuck. Zombies are real and my possibly-only-friend is dying. I can deal with it.

.

* * *

.

9:30 Dragon

Entry Fifty Six

.

Feet: hurt.

Regret: immense.

Dick: out.

 _ **I am forcibly attacked by a SPIDER while taking a goddamn piss.**_

 _[There is a large spider cutely drawn but with sharp fangs attacking a stick figure. The stick figure has a bubble saying: 'IM TRYNA TAKE A PISS?!' The stick figure is helpfully marked: 'me lol']_

.

* * *

.

9:30 Dragon

Entry Fifty Nine

.

 _Guess who found Elfroot, bitchez!_

 _._

* * *

 _._

Oh, of fucking course.

"Is that _it?_ "

Was that **it**?!

All this way, all these _blisters_ , and two handfuls of Elfroot was all I could find? It wasn't enough! What was this forest's fucking problem? Was it 'Shit On Ren Week'? 'Be A Dickhead To Ren Month'? Was the universe making bets on the worst way to piss me off or something?

Cause it was working.

I was losing my _mind_.

Two weeks I had been frolicking in the woods like some sort of lame pixie, looking for enough green shit to fumble my way through a healing martini that probably wouldn't kill the sten, and this was all I had to show for it?

Hot _damn_ , life sucked.

"Whatever," I grumbled, suddenly quite content to burn what roots I did have and find a cliff to jump from. "WHATEVER. I don't even care anymore. The sten is going to have to be happy with THIS."

Christ. He wasn't going to be happy. He was never happy. If he was even still alive, he was going to ritually sacrifice me to the gods of, like, scary efficiency or bulging biceps or gigantic swords or whoever it was that he prayed to. I was dead meat.

Dead Elf probably didn't even taste that nice.

It was a quick trip back to Redcliffe. I had to chase the sun so it wouldn't set and leave me to deal with the zombies, who probably didn't mind Dead Elf as a delicacy, but I had a few complaints about that. Namely that zombies didn't seem to care about seasoning and that was just personally offensive.

Also, I didn't really want to die.

Man, I missed Skeletor. I needed that cat to cuddle me right fucking now. I was depressed and about to be eaten by zombies; the cat could find time in his busy schedule of PURR DIRECTLY INTO THE STEN'S EARS to at least send me off. It wasn't too much to ask.

Or I could half-chew a dozen mushrooms and then spit them in a nun's face.

Both of these things had an ice cube's chance in hell of happening. Ugh.

Too soon in my opinion, the deadbeat town of Undead Central came into walking distance, that asshole knight Ser What's-His-Name sitting like a gargoyle near the mill. I considered filling my pockets with mud to fling in his eyes when I was in range, and then decided the 'why-have-I-not-killed-you' look from the sten when he inevitably found out I had put mud in my pockets wasn't worth it.

What's-His-Name gave me a stank look. I stuck my middle finger up at him, feeling chillingly like my name was now Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way.

I had a strange urge to call him a fucking loser prep.

… Actually, what was stopping me?

"Fucking loser prep."

"Piss off."

Yeah, that went about exactly as expected.

Whatever. More important things to do, prettier men to annoy, possible throats to choke with bitter root juice. Fuck him anyway.

Well. Assuming the sten had survived two weeks without my studious medical attention.

The town was being kinda weird when I walked through it, in a weird way that had probably not as much to do with their imminent death by sunset as I thought it should. There weren't as many kids crying on the streets, at least, and the soldiers (while missing, like, 75% of the rest of their army) ((I'd probably see them tonight, if you catch my drift)) weren't all depressed. The blacksmith was working as well.

I mean, the shithead still smelled like ale, but his weapons were coming out passably. My generously-donated hut/house thing was suspended over a lake ( _the_ asshole lake, actually) and I could see the phallic blip of that mage prison school from there.

Only other problem with the house-hut was the fact that it was literally identical in every way to the other hut-houses it was surrounded by.

Still.

It takes a new tier of dumbass to break into the wrong house.

"Holy shit god damn _you're a dwarf_ ," was the first thing that came outta my mouth. And then I resolved the situation by hauling Gigantor from my back and saying, "What the hell are _dwarves_ doing in my house?"

The DWARF sneers. It's actually quite effective because all that disdain is really compressed on his small, severe face. If all Elves had baby faces, all dwarves looked like middle aged depressed business men.

He snarls, "This ain't _yer_ house, elf!"

"Yes it is!"

"It's not. It's the Boss' house."

"I didn't ask _you,_ testicle number two," I jab my sword at the dwarf, which, what'dya know, causes weapons to be pulled out from every which direction. Oh wow that is a lot of knives. And there is only one of me. "What did you do with the sten?"

The dwarf asks, "The fuck is a _sten_? You got _loot_ lying 'round here, elf?"

I free one hand from Gigantor to throw it on the air. "What type'a question is that? Sten! The Qunari!"

"A damned _Quna_ — _that's next door, you bleeding git!_ "

I stop. Just like that. "What, really?"

"AYE."

"Then… _you_ aren't breaking into my house,"

The dwarf looks furious. "That was _you_ who smashed _my_ lock. I will be having compensation for that."

"BULLSHIT I am!" The dwarf nods. The testicles on either side of him remind me forcibly that they are still armed with many pointy daggers. I reach for my pouch and grumble, "I only have like a handful of silvers and bronzes. I don't think that'll be enough for a new lock."

Dwarf smiles like a shark. "What else ye got in there? I'll accept jewelry too."

"Dude, I'm a dude. I don't wear jewelry." The dwarf rolls his eyes; about the moment I see he is wearing a lot of earrings, rings and necklaces. Huh.

"All ye hairless elves look like lasses to me, _lass._ All baby faced leaf munchers." I move something resembling a tumbleweed away-it's for Skeletor!—and the dwarf leans _in._ "That Elfroot, boy?"

I growl, "It's not for sale."

"Haven't seen a healthy bit of Elfroot for a damn long while. Do you know how much that weed is worth is these regions? The undead have been doing shit all for the soil, and the Blight doesn't help none."

"I have a Royal Elfroot."

"How much?"

"Just the one."

He scoffs, " _Just one_ ain't gonna get me much profit. I'm a _businessman,_ elf. Do business with me."

"I need the Elfroot for my companion. I can't just give it to the first dwarf I see!" I explode, shouldering Gigantor so I can better indignantly gesture, "He'll die!"

An arrow gets just that bit closer to my vulnerable little throat. "Start thinking 'bout your own health if I was you, elf," says the archer.

"Thinking's probably a fucking theoretical concept to to you, testicle two, so mind your business,"

"Boss, lemme just kill him now and we'll loot his corpse!"

"Um, excuse me, _whose corpse_? I'm not being killed in the house I accidentally invaded by _you_ two fuck-ugly sorry sons of bi-"

"He ain't worth the trouble of hiding his body," Dwarf says. Then he grins, "Though… could always kill you and throw you in the lake. What's one more dead body in this town?"

"Uhhh, an _angry one_? Look," I huff, "you're a businessman or what the fuck ever? I'm a client. Sell me something. I'm not killin' my bosom buddy for nothing. Where's your shit? I'll trade."

Dwarf hums and gestures grandly to the bullshit set up on the side of the room. "Pick away, rabbit. Business has been slow anyway, trouble down in Orzammar, so you got a discount."

"You're so generous,"

"Careful," the dwarf suddenly says, low and mean enough that my shoulders raise. Wouldn't take long to arm myself with Gigantor, right? "I'm tolerating you 'cause I feel like it. Don't think for a moment I'll let you strut around my house forever."

Did I say generous? I meant generally nasty.

I scowl at the wares and decide to pick at random just so I can get out of here feeling like I've not been cheated. Maybe some jewelry or a mirror or a leather cuff for the aesthetic, when I see a huge Greatsword propped in the back, ridged and grooved and jagged, almost uneven in its design. It has a leather strap wrapped around where the blade met the hilt, stitched with a purple symbol I didn't quite recognize. Still, it was well taken care of-the edge of the blade gleamed, the steel a little dirty but only cosmetically. The hilt is pressed and worn. Whoever owned this sword had loved it. And was probably dead.

I loved the jagged edge. My god, it had _blood grooves._

I grab the sword. "How much for this motherfucker?"

The dwarf laughs, mean, "That is worth more than your handful of common Elfroot can afford."

I think, _ah man, soz the sten. Nice knowing ya._ and reach into my pouch to pull out a blue weed. "How about I throw my Royal Elfroot in to sweeten the deal?"

The dwarf smiles, all sorts of lecherous. "Must not like your friend much, huh? I'll take those silvers, too, and it's a deal."

Woo! I hand it all over and prance out with my - _the sten's_ new sword.

I weigh my new sword experimentally. Bit bottom side heavy for my tastes, buuuut… it's the sten's, ain't it? And if he doesn't want it, I'll take one for the team and use it for myself! Easy.

(Oh, who was I kidding? It was perfect.)

I kick open my door.

There is suddenly a staff blade at my neck.

Wow. Not so easy.

"Did I enter the wrong freaking house again?" I hiss, staring at the eggplant looking hedge witch standing in the middle of _my house._ She looks me up and down and sneers. Fuck her too. _I'm_ still armed with my awesome sword so I'm obviously the winner here.

"Strange. Were it not for the way your hair has settled, I would have mistaken you for a human. You have uncommonly small ears, elf."

"Are you tryna imply something?" Little Mihren was FINE. The witch laughs in that way Malificent probably laughed when she cursed a newborn baby. I warn, "If you try and fuck me up I swear I'm taking everyone down with me."

The goth chick snorts. She lowers her weapon but I know mages, and she's defs prepared to fight me. Ha! Well, she can try. "And I am supposed to take such a threat seriously? You are but a child,"

"I'm a child who is about to wreck you, lady, so you better explain what you're doing in my house," I consider the possibility that I really have meandered into the wrong house before mentally shrugging. "Where's my cat?"

"Your… feline monster is fine, and this is _not_ your house."

"That isn't any of your business, you lame excuse for a Wednesday Addams cosplayer. Why are you in my space? Where's the sten? _Where is Skeletor._ "

"The cat is sleeping; fine, as I said. Your pet Qunari? Worry not, elf, no harm came to him by our hands. I believe it was quite the opposite. He is fine. Healing."

… Well.

"Wait, what? Why? How? _Who are you people_?!"

This is precisely when someone ducks out of the room I shoved the sten in and scowls in goth girl's direction. "Morrigan, _what are y_ -oh, an elf!"

I frown at the massive blond dude- _resist the muscles, Ren, resist the-_ oh god damn, that's… that's a tight shirt. _Look away, Renny boy, eyes to the ceiling. Keep God in your heart._

God had abandoned me.

The dude's shirt wasn't tied properly. Oh, shit. Chest hair. The sten didn't have chest hair. I'd thought it was a mercy but no, no, this was karma. The beefcake was karma.

Morrigan rolls her eyes at me. I swallow, hope I am not drooling-the beefcake seems oblivious to my gawking-and exclaim, "Why do you humans always say it like that? Have you never seen an elf before? What if I said, 'oh, a human!' every time _I_ saw one of you, huh?"

The beefcake raises his hands in surrender and says smartly, "Oh, an _angry_ elf. You complement your Qunari friend, mate. And I have met _plenty_ of elves, thank you!"

That was the second time they'd mentioned my Qunari friend. I technically didn't have any Qunari _friends_ , but there could only be one person they were talking about.

The beefcake was eyeing the _two_ humongous swords on my back ("How is that not breaking your back?") when I decide to simply shove past him into the room. He yelps like a dog and whines, "Hey! Wait, you rude little—"

The door I slam open snaps right back off the wall and nearly gives me a concussion. The tiny room is _full_ of people: an elf in purple robes, an old lady with her hands glowing, an odd red head ducked over a bucket of water, ringing out a rag, and finally, my good old Qunari. Skeletor is asleep in his lap.

I grin at the sight of him sitting up, stiff and proper and vaguely disapproving. "I thought an infection would have set in by now!"

The sten closes his eyes at my voice. "You have not been back ten minutes and your incessant yapping has already given me a headache,"

"And _you're_ strangely talkative for a corpse. Hi, strangers in my home treating my friend. Thanks for that."

"We are not friends."

"Everyone _else_ seems to think I am. I think it's a sign. Maybe you can start using my actual name for once. For the _strangers in my house_ , that would be—"

"Ren?"

The red head looks up from her bucket. I gape. "Sister Leliana?"

The beefcake pokes his head in. "You know the elf, Leliana?"

Sister Leliana was wearing armor. And a leather skirt thing that I didn't imagine protected her legs much. Also: _crossbow._ What the shit. "I-yes. We met in Lothering, he..."

"She kinda taught me how to read," I say numbly, looking at the CROSSBOW, "I say 'kinda' because I still don't fuckin' know how to. Is that a crossbow?"

"A… crossbow?" Sister Leliana shook her head, used to my strange mangling of Common words. I realize that maybe this world doesn't have crossbows and I mean, obviously, that isn't a crossbow. It looks nothing like one and I am an idiot. "This is a longbow, used in archery. Have you seen one before?"

Holy shit my old teacher NUN is actually the lovechild of Black Widow and Hawkeye. This was really happening.

I look at the sten. The sten is staring blankly, like he usually does when he wants me to hurry up and stop talking. "Gotten pretty close to a few,"

The old lady stands. "Your name is Ren?" I nod. "I am Wynne, a mage from the Circle. I'm sorry we trespassed but we heard from a villager that there was a—a Qunari," she says, like the word _Qunari_ was probably not the exact word they used, "in need of assistance. I'm adept with healing magics and came to see if I could help. I'm afraid Sten could have died if left another day. If you don't mind me asking, what persuaded you to abandon your ill friend's side?"

Was she… criticizing me?

I cross my arms. "Getting Elfroot. I was going to make a health elixir or whatever it's called."

The goth chick makes an insulting noise. "You? I doubt an elf with such an unbecoming weapon would have any idea of the finesse of herbalism."

"You can take that doubt and shove it up your ass, lady, 'cause healing drinks are my _shit_." I bark, feeling a bit attacked here. I turn my sourness to the old lady. _Wynne._ What a dumb name.

"Elfroot? Actually, there could still be a use for that. If you give it to me now I can make a quick potion for Sten-"

Uhhhh.

"Can't." Wynne's ambient disapproving grandma aura gains power. I refuse to scramble to satisfy her and give her the stink eye. "I gave it to an angry dwarf so he wouldn't kill me. Whoops."

Beefcake hums, nodding, "It's like that sometimes."

Thanks, beefcake.

"Also, I'm broke—same dwarf—so I can't pay you."

Witchy behind me sighs. "This is no charity. I say we reimburse the Qunari of this life-threatening wounds and leave for the castle. We waste our time here—"

The silent elf mage cuts a look at Witchy. Witchy actually shuts up. I side eye the elf mage. She's tiny and looks only a few years older than me. Nice. Quiet badass.

I swing one of the swords from my back, half-hoping I'll chop one of the people standing behind me, and thrust it in the sten's direction. "I did manage to get something, though, but it's the sten's because his sword right now is cool but I feel bad for almost killing him and you can't have this one—"

"I do not need it, elf. I have my asala." Well then... Good. I spent all my money on it as an apology for not having any Elfroot, but considering I thought he was dead... I decide not to mention that in the event of his death the sword was going to be mine. It's mine now. Doesn't matter anymore. "I would never want for another blade. I... don't believe I thanked you earlier, for returning Asala to me."

Welp.

Considering half the shit he says about spirits and souls go over my head, that was fair. Still. I have a Gigantor 2.0! Wins all around.

"You're welcome, G."

"Thank you, _kadan_."

Did he just… insult me? Rude. Leliana stands and sweeps over to my side. "Is there really no way for you to pay for our services? No spare coins or roots?"

I shrug. Leliana smells like flowers, as per usual. Kinda missed it. "Could sell y'all my body but apart from that, I got nothing."

Morrigan tilts her head and says, "No, I think it will work nicely,"

Immediately, the beefcake hisses, " _We are not sacrificing the elf!_ "

 **What.**

The sten glowers at Morrigan. It's the most emotion I've seen from him since that one time he attacked me for no good reason. "You do not harm the elf, _saarebas_."

Morrigan sneers, "There is a _Blight,_ Qunari. He will be harmed whether I have a personal stake in the maiming or not."

Wynne says, "There will be no maiming of the elf at all!"

"Besides, look at that sword, it's terrifying," says Beefcake, "though I don't know how those tiny straw arms of yours would lift the sword _up_."

I yelp, "Hey, _who's getting maimed?!_ I'll main _you_ before you can maim _me_ —"

Leliana huffs and flicks my ear, "Re _n_."

The elf mage steps forward and speaks: "Come with us." Her voice is quiet, steady, commanding; a perfect silence settles over the room. The elf looks at the sten, then at me-at my _ears_ -and says, "Me and Alistair are the last Grey Wardens. We need to stop the Blight. Come with us. It will be your payment."

Wynne looks disapproving, and although Leliana is suddenly staring at the ground, I'm close enough to see the downwards slant of her lips. Morrigan sounds derisive and she hasn't even said anything. Alistair-slash-Beefcake gives no reaction except to stare, perplexed, at the elf.

My tone is almost too dry to even be sarcasm when I respond, "You want me to pay you back for saving the sten by letting you kill the sten with the Blight. No way."

The sten stares at me. "I am to return to the Arishok when I have done my duty."

Whatever that was. What was the rush? He was happy to dawdle with me.

"The Blight can cross water," says the elf, almost too quiet to hear, "The Blight will not die on its own. I need muscle. I won't ask again: will you help?"

Alistair mutters, "What am I, chopped darkspawn?"

Morrigan whispers back, "You are _ornamental_."

I look to the sten for what he has to say. He is waiting for me. That's unusual but whatever. I am beyond tempted to tell the mage and all her mage-y friends and her beefcake and Leliana to go fuck themselves.

Then Leliana grabs my arm and says, "You said to me once that you were going to travel all of Thedas."

Yeah, to _ransack libraries._

"What better way to travel than with Grey Wardens?"

Leliana's grip tightens: not firm, but reassurance. She used to do it when she was teaching me to read, when I would stutter or fumble or hesitate on an unfamiliar word. Slowly, she would sound it out. _Phonetically first_ , she said, guiding my hand, _and then we will do the characters._

 _I'm not gonna do this. It's too-_ _ **why**_ _do verbs go at the end?_

 _That's just how it is, Ren, that is how the Maker intended it to be: struggle first to learn, but feel immense pride in it when you are done. Verbs and all._

 _It's stupid._

 _It is convoluted, indeed, but I have not encountered anything or any_ _ **one**_ _that I consider stupid. Do it again._

 _I'll fail._

 _Then fail. Then try again. And fail better._

I shrug Leliana's hand from me and point at the sten. Thinking, _fuck it._ "You in, you gigantic motherfucker?"

The sten runs a hand over the flat edge of Asala, staring at it for a moment, before turning that piercing gaze unto me. His hand is still around the hilt when he tells me, "My report to Seheron will be meaningless if the Blight has already taken the world. You, _saarebas_. You are a Grey Warden?"

The elf nods.

The sten hums, drawn out and low. "My people have heard tales of the Wardens: mighty, honorable warriors. I see now that it was propaganda."

" _Hey_." Alistair glowers. "Surana, you're not going to let him say that, are you?"

'Surana' flicks her ears—huge, by the way—in Alistair's direction. He settles. That is some freaky command she has.

I say, "If the grey bastard is in and Leliana stays, then yeah, sure, why not? I'll come with you. But I reserve the right to leave whenever the hell I want to."

Surana corrects me, "When I consider your debt paid."

"Do we have to call it a debt?" I murmur. Don't much like the word.

"We could call it indentured servitude," Leliana offers.

Alistair follows with, "Held errand boy,"

"Special acquaintance and Qunari friend,"

"Team mascot. No. Team mascot with non-negotiable extended hours!"

"Indebted elf."

"You ruin all the fun, Morrigan!"

Holy shit.

These dudes were insane.

I raise my hand and yell, "AND MY CAT GETS HIS OWN SLEEPING BAG."

.

* * *

.

9:30 Dragon

Entry Sixty

.

Remember that unspoken-but-heard plan where I was going to get G back on his feet and then clear the area?

Surana (that my new boss btw) ((she's a magic elf and she mumbles a lot)) (((a sweetheart really))) has decided to fuckin' annihilate the zombie population and then go to the castle so she can blackmail—

 _[The word 'blackmail' is crossed out]_

Sorry, "NEGOTIATE" with the King or whatever (Alistair tells me the dude in the castle is definitely not the King but what would he know) so they can maybe not let the world end due to orcs. Absolute madmen.

Oh well.

That's just how it is sometimes.

Also the sten keeps glaring at Surana and Witchy (goth girl) and Oldie (that would be the grandma) and I don't know why but I'm enjoying it.

Gigantor 2.0. Is doing a great job on battle. Sorry, Gigantor The First. You've been effectively replaced.

Was a weird day. I'ma K.O. and think using my big fat brain tomorrow. Pce out, hoes & bros.


	4. About Those Anger Management Classes

.

Excerpts from Mihren's Journal: From Origins to Inquisition

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry I'm Too Tired To Check  
.

Mission status: Fucked.

Okay, that's not true. It's only about half an hour till sunset so we're all camping at the choke point like a bunch of fucking noobs. I'd like the record to show that this is the Thedas equivalent of spawn camping and I'm not impressed with my team right now. Informed G that we were being shitheads doing this and he told me that 'this' was, in fact, called _tactical thinking_ and that I should _try it out myself, as it would greatly decrease my chances of a slow, brutal death._ Starting to think that G wants a kick in the balls. Or the dick. Or both.

Alternate idea: kick him hard enough in the dick that he won't be able to use it as nothing but a flap to keep the dust out of his a-

 _[The writing pauses, as if Mihren's brain has caught up with what his fingers are doing. The sentence abruptly cuts off, and yet, it still gives of a distinct feeling of surprised shame.]_

Uhhh... anyways. I didn't meet him earlier, but turns out this company has a dog. And not just _any dog._

A _mabari._

His name is John and Skeletor likes to sit on his head. It's weird but my cat is no longer, A) Scratching the shit outta _me_ , or B) Picking favorites and giving Sten too much love while I sit in the corner, cold and alone. The dog stinks. His fur is suspiciously soft considering the amount of dirt I see caked in it. Further investigation required.

Surana (the Elf wearing the pants in this shitfest) is off chatting with Witchy, which I gather Leliana doesn't like, because she keeps glaring at them. I'll probs have to check up with her and ask what the fuck that's about. Doesn't much look like she's thinking holy thoughts, if you know what I meeeaaaaan. Oldie is chatting with Beefcake- actually, I think Oldie is criticizing something Beefcake is and/or has done and Beefcake is just taking it, because he's a total fucking sub, apparently. G is standing beside me doing absolutely nothing.

The sun is taking a while to set. I think I'm gonna fucking fight it. Square up, motherfucker.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Sixty Two  
.

 _[The edges of the page are smeared with dirt and blood, with muddy fingerprints dotting the text.]_

Good news: the zombies were PWND and I carried the team to victory.

Bad news: I lied about the good news. I mean, yeah, the undead have been beat back but I didn't carry the team. I actually was bitten by a zombie and before I could scream "RUDE?" a humongous spider jumped over my head and mauled the poor fucker, and then I was just screaming. No words, just one long, continuous note in high C. So that's why I now owe Witchy one. Since when was shapeshifting a thing? Why was I not informed of this?

We're resting now. Surana and Alistair were given a really fancy makeshift ceremony that was basically just everyone in town saying, "hey, thanks for not abandoning us to be eaten by our not-dead uncles. Decent of you." Surana hated it. Alistair also hated it, only slightly less than Surana hated it, because she hated it really bad. Like. Super bad.

Setting off for the castle as soon as Oldie and Surana are finished napping. We've gotta handle business quick- we saved the town last night, but the zombies are still very much a thing, so we gotta figure this shit out. Getcha head in the game, lads.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Sixty Three  
.

Was thinking, _this isn't such a bad company to be apart of,_ and now we're in a dungeon and I think I hate it.

... Nvm, I _know_ I hate it. Fucker.

.

* * *

.

There was something about small, dark, enclosed spaces made of stone and lit by shitty candles that made me uneasy. And by 'uneasy' I meant — pretty much exactly that, as it turned out. Since an elf and qunari made up the company's two-handed warriors, we took the lead, with Alistair and his shitty wooden shield protecting the squishy people. John the mabari was at Surana's side, completely disregarding tactics (same, mutt). I stuck close to Sten (article now redacted? That was a thing?), hoping that the qunari's superior size, width, face, sword, and general everything would be more attractive to the zombies — yeah, castle had _them_ too — attacking us.

 _Good strategy,_ I had said, only to realize that this was a terrible strategy and I hated being underground.

"This is no time for writing down your thoughts, elf," Morrigan piped up from behind me in that annoyingly superior voice of hers. "We are besieged by the undead. One would think it was such a task that required ones full attention."

"Oh, shut up," I huffed, putting my pathetic nub of charcoal and beaten journal back into my little pack. I wondered if I could get away with sucking a bit at my job: let a Walker through, let it chomp a bit at Morrigan's fat head, then swoop in, save her life, and laugh at whatever remained of her face. You know, that sort of thing. It'd be so good.

Alistair cleared his throat. "I thought you didn't know how to read?"

"I don't. I'm actually drawing pictures of everyone in this company being eaten alive. It's therapeutic." Morrigan made a noise caught between 'ha ha that was funny, I hate people' and, 'Ren is one of the people I hate, therefore nothing he ever says is funny'. "Except Leliana and Surana. Y'all are good." Leliana smiled brightly.

"Thank you," Surana mumbled. She was frowning. "But you shouldn't draw pictures like that. It isn't very nice." John barked, sounding about as disappointed as a dog could.

That made Alistair laugh, who knows why. I groaned lightly, rubbing the back of my neck. Uhh. "Just a joke, Warden." I muttered.

Surana blinked, her mouth falling open in understanding. "Oh. _Oh_ , sorry, I'm not good at sarcasm."

"Eh, don't worry 'bout it." Not good with sarcasm. _Great_. That was, like, _three quarters_ of my funny shit made redundant. I tilted my head back and took a big whiff of air through my nostrils. The smell was almost as bad as Apawstate, that stupid mutt. Actually, it could have been John. "Aaaaaah, it smells like shit down here!" Everywhere they went, there was the sound of dripping water and creaking metal. The dripping was wearing at my patience, and I kept thinking I saw black candles mounted on the walls. Clearly, I was going insane.

Leliana stopped us before we could walk through a door. Honestly, didn't even know we were approaching a door. _Come on, dude. Getcha head in the game. You are Troy Boltron. This is your team. You are the captain. The youngest student to ever make it into the varsity team on his first go_ —"Wait. I think I hear someone."

"You do—?" Alistair went to say. Leliana cut him off by shattering something on the ground which swallowed her in a swirling cloud of grey and purple. When it cleared, she was nowhere in sight (bad _ass_ ), and the door she'd stopped them from going through was inching shut without a sound ( _double badass!_ ). Alistair threw his hands up. "Why does she always _do that_?!"

Skeletor, from John's head, swiped at Alistair's sword pommel. I bent to my knee and made Skeletor look at me, going through the rules of combat. "The cat stays back. The elf charges in and gets himself killed. Got it?" Skeletor licked her asshole, 'cause that was just what cats did. It was also Skeletor for, 'I understand, stupid elf.' so... whatever. I flicked John's snout. "Don't let this dumbass jump in after you, alright?"

John whimpered and nodded, licking my finger. Disgusting.

Meanwhile, with the people standing on their feet, Surana was staring at Alistair strangely. "She's a rogue. Rogues do that a lot." Replied Surana. "I read about it."

Wynne shook her head, "Books describing such classes of fighting were not available to apprentices, Surana. You always did get into places you didn't belong." Surana smiled uncomfortably and didn't reply. I mean, I hadn't realized Surana was a Circle mage and had to beat down the urge to ask a shit ton of questions: mostly about how the Circle treated mages (I suspected: pretty shit). Wynne seemed happy enough about the Tower, but given that Surana made no mention of the damn place, she _prooooobably_ didn't feel the same way.

The door inched open. Leliana slid back to our party with a disdainful wrinkle of her nose. "The chamber appears empty of enemies but skeletons in armor cover the floors. I believe the undead intend to ambush us." John put his tail in between his legs. Guess the dog didn't like that.

"So the dead were playing dead," Alistair hummed. "Seems counterproductive, really."

"So they possess enough intelligence to understand the advantage of an ambush. How... quaint." Morrigan crossed her arms. "It takes a mage of no small power to animate puppets who are capable of strategic thinking, Warden. Underestimating the opponent's skill in witchcraft could prove detrimental to our lives."

Sten plainly stated, "A _saarebas_ is no challenge to put down. They all fight the same: cowardly, using others as their shields. We underestimate nothing."

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Tis your funeral, qunari. There are none here who would miss you, disregarding the elf." I, who had been staring blankly ahead of myself, minding my own _damn business_ , snapped back into the conversation. I flipped Morrigan off because she was a bitch and I wasn't quite sure what she'd said, but knew in my heart that it was probably an insult.

"Fuck off," I added, for good measure.

"The eloquence of the Dalish never fails to amaze me—" She began coolly, and I would be angry, but...

The... The what?

Danish?

"Enough. Warden, allow us to spring the trap. They no longer have the element of surprise. What is the cause for hesitation?"

Surana blinked at the space over Sten's shoulder. "None, really. I was waiting for you to be ready." She smiled, twirling her staff and stepping back. Wynne and Morrigan followed her lead, while Alistair stepped forward with his shield already raised.

"I will cover you," Leliana dropped low to the ground, a look on her face unlike any I had ever seen. I reviewed the defense of Redcliffe. Had I seen her at all fighting? Well, _yes_ , but not her face. Just her arrows singing past my ear, nailing zombie fuckers in the eye, and the occasional song — like, actual fucking singing, because that was appropriate — followed by her daggers cutting through flesh. Didn't actually see her face.

 _That's sick as fuck,_ I had to admit. _A murder nun. This is the coolest thing ever._

"Welp. Come on, Gigantor," I held my awesome new sword in my hands and asked, "Hey, can I kick the door in?" and then kicked the door in without waiting for a response.

"Hey!" Alistair yelped. I ignored him, charging into the fight with a scream of, "LEEEROOOY JEEENKINNSS!"

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Sixty Three  
.

Okay I don't have much time to do this but I do have time and that's pretty cool because I just spent like an hour fighting nonstop underground, kicking zombie ass and then at one point I had to kill a few dogs, which wasn't that cool, but they were eating ears and it was super weird and they attacked _first_.

Morrigan chortled (really no other word for it) at me for being upset that I'd killed a few dogs, but Surana didn't kill _any_ dogs and she was sadder than me, and no one laughed at _her_. Not that I _wanted_ anyone to, but, you know... double standards. Double standards! Where in the _equality_ here?!

(I'm pretty sure the actual mabari is the least affected by this. Which is. Not that normal, I think. He's just cuddling Surana now.)

In the courtyard of the castle now. It's... depressing, actually. Yeah. Pretty depressing. I wouldn't come here for Christmas. OH FUCK THAT'S RIGHT. Killed a Revenant as well! Just this huge motherfucker with this chain that pulls you towards it. Boss battle. Actually awesome. I enjoyed every minute of it. I have a huge burn around my waist and my arm is fucked but I'm good. Wynne keeps offering to heal me (less good) but I have my own pastes in my shitty pack and do not need her help.

I dunno, just think it'd be awkward as hell if she went to heal me and—

 _[Mihren has drawn a steaming pile of feces.]_

—pbffbth, nothing! How am I even going to explain that?

...

... I'll leave it up to future me.

We'll be going inside as soon as every freak here is finished picking the pockets of dead people. I think Surana's just rubbing the furry leaves for some reason, I dunno, but I know for sure that Leliana is making a fucking profit off all these skeletons. Turns out that when you die, the money you had on you when you bit the dust is _still there_. Leliana's bringing in the bacon, dude, it's exciting. Even Witchy's poking at bodies with her staff. Preeeetty sure Beefcake replaced his shield.

G, of course, has not looted anything because his armor and sword make up the best equipment this party is in possession of. I have not looted anything because I'm writing down my 'feelings' in this shitty journal. Oldie has not looted anything because she thinks it'll be disrespectful to the dead to steal their belongings from them. Surana was all, _I don't think they have the consciousness to mind,_ _Wynne_. and Oldie gave her the 'Disappointed Grandma' headshake. I flipped Oldie off for it. She looked unimpressed.

Glad to be out of the dungeons. Hated it there. Hope we don't have to go into actual caves anytime soon.

Or that this entire fucking zombie apocalypse is enough of a debt-paid-off thing that I can actually work on getting the fuck _home_. Which is _still a thing I'm interested in._ These detours are-

They're whatever.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Sixty Four  
.

 _Ummmmmmm._ Little kid is a demon. Kinda. Maybe. Surana's ex-best friend (I think? He's a blood mage. He's still alive even though he should very well be dead, imo) might be able to help. Who fucken knows though.

Also, I stole some cayenne peppers from the pantries. And beeswax. My pack is full. I sure hope I don't need to put anything more in there, cause I'm not gonna fucking manage it.

* * *

"If the brat is possessed then we should get an exorcist or something, right? Ring up Ghostbusters? Bless the castle? The power of Christ compels you! and all that Hollywood shit?"

Leliana had a drawn, solemn face. She found the strength to muse, "Strange that it has been a year since we met and I still do not understand the words you use. What is an exorcist?" Hardly the most important thing to be addressing. There was a child. Being possessed. And Leliana was like, _I do not understand your pop culture references._ Like, duh! Of course you didn't!

I scratched my cheek and hummed. "Uhhhh… just a dude — or lady, no judgement — who screams religion at a demon until they leave your body. Do y'all not have that here?"

Now everyone was staring at me. "Noo _oooo,"_ Alistair said a bit awkwardly. Then he winced and said, "Actually, religious screaming sounds like a Templar thing so maybe?"

"No," Surana said, firmer, "The only way to free an Abomination is by death. There is no other way."

Wynne frowned thoughtfully. Morrigan gave me a measured look, otherwise unreadable. I clicked my tongue, feeling a bit squirmy, "We… We ain't gonna kill the kid, though, right? He — c'mon, Surana. Hes not even twelve."

Sten declared solemnly, "Possession is a temptation all _saarebas_ must resist. The _saarebas_ has failed, and it has slaughtered half the town and mutilated whoever remains. There is only one option here."

I was so suddenly, abruptly disgusted that it felt like nausea. "No way. C'mon, Ginormo, you don't mean that. You don't mean that." I stared — _glared_ at his grey face, and he met my eyes easily. No shame. None at all. I was almost ashamed _for him_ but quickly the feeling turned to rage, and for a second my vision blanked to crimson and my blood was _boiling_ and, shit, Icould have beaten him bloody right there for it, I swore—

"A kid," I was saying, _snarling_ , riding the rage the same way I did when I was in the middle of a fight. Was that what this _was_? "He's a fucking kid, not an _it_."

It had been a rough day from the start. We'd been up all night fighting skeletons, and rested for all of three hours before we had to move for the castle to cut the evil off at the source, with another hour spent slaughtering zombies and _more_ fights against brainwashed guards and feral dogs. On top of it, I was in debt to this company full of people I didn't exactly trust and barely liked. Shit, I had spent half this day _underground!_ Tensions had been running high all day, and with this news, I felt as if whatever semblance of calm I was clinging to was ripped away.

"Alistair, get him out of here," Surana said sharply.

Alistair's shoulders slumped. "...Is there nothing we can do to help?"

"The _saarebas_ has killed hundreds of its own citizens, kadan."

"He was helping his father!"

"He has failed."

That was it. There was a trigger I didn't know I had, and Sten had hit the nail on the head with it. I lunged. Leliana made a distressed noise. Sten didn't flinch, likely because Alistair caught me around the waist. I fought like a rabid animal, possessed by this strange rage that washed over me in waves. It was battle-fury, adrenaline that pumped through me one last time as I lost control of my emotions. I was drowning in it. It was all rage and battle-fury and animalistic instincts, and by the time Alistair had carried me into the courtyard, I had bruised the ex-almost-Templar's ribs even worse and scared an entire room of knights.

He dropped me like a sack next to the rotting corpse of the Revenant we'd killed. I leaped to my feet, immediately trying to tear past him back into the castle, but Alistair was almost double my shitty elf height and width: it was like trying to headbutt my way through a steel wall. Wasn't much successful.

"Woah, woah, kid, _Ren_ — calm down!"

"We aren't killing a child!"

Alistair winced, face drawn, "Look, I… don't like it either. I really, _really_ don't like it, but there is… there is _no other way_ to deal with an Abomination, and… I _hate_ it, too, Ren, but _I don't_ … we can't... there isn't much of a choice here, okay? There isn't—"

I shoved him away and snarled, "We didn't come here to murder a child!"

"No. No, we didn't," Alistair dragged a hand down his face, "Maker, no, we didn't sign up for… for this, no. Darkspawn are much easier."

"There's nothing fucking hard about this! We can't, we're not killing him, Alistair — let me _through_ — we aren't — he was just trying to help his dad!"

"Ren…"

"There has to be some way to help him!"

"If there is," said Alistair, "it's nothing we know about." To my humiliation, I could feel my eyes begin to burn. No _fucking_ way. The fight was sucked out of me instantly: this fucking _sucked._ I kicked the dusty corpse of the Revenant, sending it sailing across the courtyard in a really fucked up expression of petulant strength, before sitting down heavily. I slung Gigantor 2.0 from my back and threw it to the side, ignoring Alistair's sigh. The Grey Warden took a seat on the stairs beside me.

I thought he was going to say something, anything, but apart from his own deep breathing, he didn't make a sound. I pulled out my journal and a stub of charcoal and scribbled hard enough to press ten pages deep, stabbing and cutting black ash across the page. Apart from watching me out of the corner of his eye, there was no interaction. It was only when I started to pull out pages did he move, snatching the journal and the torn pages from my hands in an unexpectedly fast movement.

I was exhausted, but not too exhausted that I wasn't prepared to throw down. "Oi—"

"I know a little bit about destroying precious objects out of anger," The man murmured, carefully placing the torn pages back into the book. He didn't even attempt to read any of it — not that he _could_ , but I knew that Alistair was the nosiest out of all of us. This solemn, displeased Alistair was kinda weird, but seeing as I didn't know him well, I dunno if it counted as rare. Creepy, though. His sad face was the equivalent of a kicked puppy.

... Too soon to be thinking about injured dogs, actually. Gag.

"Not really a smart idea in hindsight. You'll regret it."

I would. He was right. That journal was my lifeline. It had everything there was to know about me in there, English as a language included. Without it... identity crises ahoy! Still. I never claimed to be a gracious loser. I crossed my arms, feeling every bit of my 17 years of age, and hoped my pouting wasn't bad enough that Alistair felt inclined to boot my bottom lip back up.

"Then what am I supposed to do, genius? Any smart ideas?"

Alistair had a displeased frown on his face as he scanned the courtyards. He pointed in the directions of the targets. "Hit 'em. Take your anger out on something that was built to take hits. When I was a child and I was throwing a tantrum over... something or rather, I don't remember — something stupid, no doubt — Eamon would take me out here, hand me one of those dummy swords, and tell me to whack the haystack until I felt better. If it worked for me, it'd do wonders for you, kid."

Eamon? Like, the old man Eamon we were attempting to blackmail?

Nope. Priorities. Come on, Ren. I grunted. "I'm not a _kid_."

"Riiiight, and I'm an exiled dwarf princess. Look, just take my advice this once? Without the smart comments, if you can manage it." I almost couldn't. I stared at the side of the yard with the human-shaped dummies and the targets built for archers. The longer I stared, the louder my suppressed anger was getting. I was in the perfect mood for senseless destruction.

I picked up my discarded Gigantor 2.0 and used my sleeve to wipe all the corpse matter from the blood grooves. Alistair made a noise about "teaching me proper sword care," which I ignored, instead making for the hay dummies. It took a little bit to get into it, I admit, especially knowing that I had a shadow watching me and making sure I didn't berserk again, but... well, I was pretty fucking angry. And the dummies didn't bleed.

I let it all go.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Sixty Five  
.

[ _The sentence_ _is written in perfect Common, and is of an unfamiliar handwriting. It is presumed to be written by Alistair Theirin, a Grey Warden of the Fifth Blight and Senior Warden succeeding._ ]

You have _got_ to tell me how you know how to write in perfect code but can't read a road sign in Common, elf. This is crazy.

Beefcake what the fuck I trusted you?

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Sixty Six  
.

Surana, Oldie and Leliana picked me and Beefcake up from the training grounds (is that what they're called?) and told me we were making the trip to the Circle. Turns out, there is a better way to do this but it requires a fuckton of 'lyrium'. I don't know what it is. Sounds like either a crystal or a drug, or both, both is good. Surana and Oldie looked wary to be around me — real good for a dude's self-esteem, not that I blame them — but I couldn't pry Leliana from my arm if I had non-stick baking spray and a crowbar.

But... guess we don't have to kill the kid. That's good. That's real good. If we move quickly, we can get around the lake and to the phallic mage prison in under 3 days. Oldie says that while we shouldn't dawdle, we shouldn't push ourselves, 'cause apparently it's a dumbfuck idea considering how exhausted we are. There were no complaints. Not even from me, and I complain for the fucking fun of it.

Just no use burning myself out, you know? I'm real tired. Missing Skeletor. Shithead is back in Redcliffe with G. John, of course, wasn't leaving Surana's side for anything so he's here, scaring off small woodland creatures with his stench. Someone really needs to wash that dog.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Sixty Seven  
.

Beefcake asked about the feet today. Specifically, he asked if he could ask about all the toes I didn't have, because apparently he just "happened to noticed that I only had seven, which is three less than he did." I told him that I had broken them off in this nosy Templar's ass, and wasn't too fussed about doing the same thing to a Warden. Seemed to get the message.

Ears hurt today. I guess it's one of those days. Not in much of a good mood tbh. Psycho lady's reign never en—

Have to walk behind everyone because I can't stand to hear their breathing and not see th—

Didn't sleep well. Really miss my cat. And silence.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Sixty Eight  
.

Learned new thing today. Couple of new things, actually.

One— Oldie is too curious for her own good.

Two— Oldie does not appreciate being called a nosy old hag with boobs bigger than her sense. Wow. Almost like I didn't mean to insult her when telling her this. Leliana and Surana are displeased with me. Beefcake is downright offended.

Oh, and third— Oldie has a _real_ good death glare.

It's night time now. My ointment is running out and my ears sting, especially with the wind as it is. My toes, too. I dunno, the pain just ain't passing, there's probably a reason for it (like, say, _karma_ ) but it's pissing me off. It is day one and a half. Wonder if G has snapped and killed the kid yet. Wonder if he's snapped and killed _Witchy_ yet.

[ _The entry ends with several drawings of a hedge witch with exaggerated kohl dying in a multitude of different ways, including but not limited to: burnt at the stake, drowning, the sacrifice of a sacrificial ritual, and being pushed off the edge of a cliff by a hornless qunari._ ]

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Sixty Nine  
.

Found some Elfroot, lemon balm, St. John's wort. Still have the peppers & beeswax I pinched from the castle. Haven't seen anything that looks like kratom yet. Or rosemary. Fuck. Also, really need some feverfew to chew on and then maybe I'll stop being such a broody prick. Oldie noticed the stick up my ass and asked if she might "be of assistance," meaning, like, magical assistance. Which. Not a type of assistance that works with me. So I shot her down, and now I seem like I really hate mages. Surana has now put two continents of space between us.

... Yeah. I really need that feverfew. And a fucking _stone_ , so I can grind these stupid plants down.

...

Uh. So. Oldie sat me the fuck down and told me that she would be helping me deal with my pain whether I liked it or not, so I asked if she had any kratom on her, and she just f ucking pu llled it out of her robes I am _so fucking pissed off right now._ She said that if I'd stopped acting like a child, a solution could have been found much quicker, and I "wouldn't have had to suffer needlessly out of misplaced loyalty to my youthful impetuousness."

It pissed me off, no doubt, but I was so happy that she had some kratom that I just hugged her and went straight for the fire. **FUCKING FINALLY _._**

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Unknown  
.

 _[This entry is dog-eared and well-worn. It is also the first entry to be written entirely in Common. The handwriting is sloppy, slanted, and childish. While there are few spelling mistakes, the author has no understanding of the difference between lowercase and capital letters. As a result, the recipe is difficult to read.]_

—LOTs Of ElfROOT. LIkE, _sIx_ (6) ElfrOOt. STEm  & lEaf.

—BEEswAX (like, a PaPERcLIP) ((PAPErwEIghT, I guEEs?))

—cOuPLE grAms Of ST. JOhn's wORT oIL. Like. TwIcE As much ThAn hOwEvER much ROsEmAry oIL yOu'RE usIng.

—cOuPLE grAms Of rOsEmARy oIL. HAlf ST. JOhn's wORT.

 _[There is a drawing of the St. John Wort's plant, known as 'Oakenweed' in Common tongue.]_

—gRInd uP KRATOm InTO POwdER, usE sAmE AmOunT Of IT As rOsEmARy. SAmE ThIng fOR LEmOn bAlm.

—TwO (2) cAyEnnE PEPPERs

—LIkE. sIx (6) dROPs Of gIngER oIL (cAn bE cLOVE) OR TEn (10) If IT's A shITTy mOnTh

HOW TO MAKE:

—HAlf Of St JOhn's woRT oIL To Kratom & ElfROOT PowdER unTIL doUghy? PowdER stIcks TogeThER. ROLL bALL.

—Add PEPPERs

—PuT bAll In chEEsEclotTh, TIe chEEsEcloTh

 _[The sloppy, childish handwriting stops here. The handwriting of Alistair Theirin takes over for a short time.]_

— Add the other half of St John's wort oil to a pan and put it on simmer. Add the cheesecloth bundle to oil while it is warming.

— Wait until the oil turns greenish. It might take a few hours.

 _[The childish writing returns.]_

— probAbLy wEAr gloVEs. tAkE KrAtom chEEsEcloth bUndLE And _**GENTLY**_ wring oUT hERbAL shiT

—Add bEEswAx To ThE grEEnIsh oIL. whEn It Is mELTEd, tAkE oIL off fiRE

—Add oiL To ThE sAlvE

cOngRATuLATIOns. YoU hAVE mAid 'OOf Ouch EAR huRTing JuIcE'!

 _[There is a note written in elegant handwriting at the bottom._ ]

Excellent work, Ren! You're getting better at this. - L

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Seventy  
.

Surana don't look too hot. We're at the docks now — I can see my old dusty plague-ridden hut from here, actually, and it's bringing back fond memories of that cumstain Faryn and angry grey man G who charmed my cat in zero point two seconds. The nostalgia is kinda nice. Good to have memories that aren't, like, torture-related.

Wait. No, Surana. This is about Surana, who doesn't look very happy. Wynne seems comfortable where she is (guess the Circle is her home) but nope, not Surana. Leliana's noticed and is now attached as close to Surana as Surana and her touch-aversion allow, but it isn't like we're gonna sit at the wharf until Surana feels better. There's a child back in Redcliffe who's probably going to die if we leave him alone any longer with G and Witchy. Time to move quickly.

—yuuup, there's the boat dude.

... Why is he wearing a skirt?

Now that Surana knows that I don't hate her for existing, I'll see if I can't figure out what's wrong.

 _[There are many drawings of Templars with exaggerated skirts that trail behind them like a wedding dress train.]_

There's a dude here: Templar, curly hair, kept glaring at the other mages and whispering angrily to his fellow soldiers. Surana was avoiding him like the plague which I didn't get at first since I assumed they were friends? With the way he was staring after her all the time, y'know, not a wild assumption.

Getting the feeling it's not quite like that.

He pulled me to the side and asked if I was a new member of Surana's company; told him "fuck, sure hope so," which he didn't find funny. Asked after her. Didn't tell him much. He didn't like that, and _definitely_ doesn't like that a bunch of mages are leaving the tower with crates of lyrium and only two guards, neither of which are him.

Surana and Oldie are organizing transportation schedules for everyone and all the lyrium. It's gonna be more than 3 days to get back to Redcliffe since none of the mages are used to walking long distances — or walking outside at all.

Yeah, so: it's a mage prison. Still blood and guts and corpses scattered around the Tower, too. Templars are dicks. Sad that half of them, like, died, but still. It's a prison. Surana left as quickly as she could, her own hoard of mages following, and I covered their backs. We have three crates of lyrium, one crate full of mage staffs. The Templars are carrying the lyrium, Beefcake the third crate, me the staffs.

Tempted to arm all the mages and let them fuckin' loose tbh—

Oldie's on good terms with most of the mages here. Hell, she's on good terms with the _Templars._ She's weird. She's a real weird old lady.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Seventy One  
.

 _[The margins are covered in pictures of a black and white cat with three spots on her nose. The cat is shown in a variety of poses, and is even outfitted in full armor in one drawing, sword drawn. It is captioned: 'Skeletor the Battlecat.']_

Sure be nice to not have stupid fucking nightmares all the goddamn time.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Seventy Seven  
.

At Redcliffe. G and Witchy watched the boy king and he has not woken up the dead to attack the village in the week we've been away. No one else is dead, but a bunch of people are getting paranoid. Seems fair. The inaction is confusing, I guess. I mean, _super badass evil demon wreaks havoc on the town for a month, suddenly decides to take a nap when it's about to be destroyed?_ Sus.

I'm just fuckin' glad I don't have to clean corpse out of my sick as fuck blood grooves and that my ears and toes aren't screaming at me.

Reunited with Skeletor! He's on my shoulder and purring directly into my ear. It's pretty chill. She hasn't even said hello to John yet. Guess she missed me too.

Shiiiiiiiiit, I'm fucking tiiiirreeed. This is the worst debt I've ever had to pay off.

.

* * *

Wynne was the one to jump into the Fade. She claimed that due to her healing abilities, she was best suited to the job. While she didn't have a variety of offensive spells, her defensive and healing spells were such that she was confident that she could outlast the demon. I don't know. Sounded like bullshit to me, but who was I to judge?

... I was myself. And yeah, I was judging anyway, but whatever. All the power to that old bag. I had a more exciting mystery to pursue: the servants all had bandages wrapped around their ears.

I couldn't stop staring. I knew it was rude — if pushed, I would blame G and his completely lack of understanding for unspoken societal rules rubbing off on me — and couldn't find it in me to stop. I wanted to if only because I understood how fucking annoying it was to be stared at, buuut… shoulda, woulda, coulda.

Didn't.

I stared and stared and _stared_ until the elf peeked up. When he saw me staring, _caught_ me staring, more like, he didn't do anything except look back down. His shoulders didn't tense up: I don't think they could have. The elf couldn't be anymore wound up than he already was.

I twisted around and found Surana, who was on the floor to better scratch John behind the ear. She'd been sending Wynne anxious looks since Wynne _volunteered_. She defs wasn't enjoying this damn waiting game, not like Morrigan was. "You don't need me for anything, d'ya?" She frowned at my forehead, still not comfortable making eye contact, and made a vague shaking motion with her head. I clicked my tongue. "Sweet," and cut a path straight for the elf servant. I made sure my footsteps were heavy.

The elf didn't to my presence, but he wasn't surprised when I took a knee beside him. I was still peering at his bandages. "Serah, is there something you require of me?" The man asked, voice a mumble. _Subservient_ , I thought, and the rage that had burned when Connor's life was threatened rose its self-entitled little head. I put that head under the water and violently drowned it. _Not the place, dude, not the time._

There wasn't any way to ease into it. It was my first time and I wasn't being gentle, sorry. I tucked my hair back to show the servant my own ears: mutilated, one lobe gone, the other ear missing a tip. They'd healed jagged, ugly, but I was still identifiable as an elf if only because of how elongated they were. Bigger than human ears by just enough that I couldn't be anything else other than what I was. Elf. At least physically.

The servants eyes widened. I reached slowly into my pouch and pulled out a tiny, dirty pot, cracked down the middle and in no good shape. It was a good container. Sad to let it go. "It helps," I told him, handing it over, "with the pain and the healing. You have bandages. It'll scar cleaner than mine."

Choked, he said, "Serah, I cannot accept this—"

Right. Cause that was gonna convince me.

"I restocked a little bit ago so you'll have enough in here to last a couple of months, but seeing as there are a lot of y'all here, I have no idea how long it'll keep." I pulled out my journal, old and bloodied and torn, full of half-torn pages and some paper poorly stuck in. I found the one entry I wrote on the road here, in Common by Leliana's request as she wanted me to practice the language, and tore it out. I forced the pot and the paper into the elf's pockets. "For when you run out. The ingredients aren't rare, but this one — its a weed, it only grows at the base of an oak tree. I dunno if you have a name for it, but I call it St. John's wort. Do you know what they look like?"

Ah, well. I'd drawn a picture anyway. Everyone in the party had been majorly lost when I tried to explain what St. John's wort was until I'd drawn a picture. It had been Leliana who realized what it was. Even the dog had been confused.

He nodded shakily. Really, every bit of him was shaky. "I can't… this is too much."

I talked over him. That wasn't an argument I was going to indulge since I didn't intend on changing gears on this. "It doesn't help with the pain _all_ of the time. I dunno why but sometimes it does shit all — though that might just be a me thing. It isn't a replacement for antiseptic. Clean first, apply this second. Took me too long to realize that. You got it?"

The elf couldn't say a thing.

I said again, firmer, "My man, you understanding me right now?"

He looked around us quickly before surging forward and wrapping me in a bony, short-lived and overall uncomfortable hug. "Thank you, friend," He whispered before falling back to his hands and knees, hastily resuming his scrubbing. I looked and saw that he was scrubbing blood. Did he know who it belonged to?

"Gotta stick together," I said, feeling strangely empty of my usual bravado. This was a weird week. Maybe it was because it was my first time travelling with such a large group of insane devils, Morrigan included, but all the people after literal months of solitude... Wow. _Super_ shitty. "... If you ever need anything, ask around for a little asshole of an elf by the name of Ren, alright?" A sniff. I continued, "What happened here? Doesn't happen again. I don't care how many humans or demons or zombies I have to cut through. It _doesn't_ happen again."

"Agreed, serah." Quieter, "We will never forget what you have done today."

"I didn't do shit," I huffed, pushing to my feet. I really hadn't. Chopping at corpses wasn't hard. Neither was walking and carrying a crate of glorified magic sticks. I sent a glare at a knight who was peering at me curiously and tromped back to Surana. She was staring at me, making no effort to hide it. A welcome change from the others who were all pretending they hadn't been eavesdropping on that entire thing. Except maybe Morrigan. Morrigan never really gave a shit about anything sentimental.

Alistair ruffled my hair, a cocky grin on his face. "Make a new friend, did you? I'm so happy you're putting yourself out there, Ren!"

"Get off my dick, Beefcake."

Leliana made an amused noise, before quickly smothering it. She flicked my shoulder and tutted. "That is not appropriate language at all, Ren!" I raised my eyebrows mockingly. Oh, man, I had a few choice words for her actually and I was all too happy to scream 'em to the world—

Sten cut into the mood and called out the elephant in the room. Because of course he did. "The one who damaged your ears. Were they the same person who removed your toes?"

No time for subtlety, huh, Sten? Just thinking about it made me want to run off and frolic in the woods, maybe kill a few dudes to cope with my feelings. Only there wasn't anyone left to kill, so I couldn't. (Well, there _was_ Morrigan…) "Yeah, Sten." I used his name to remind him that I was still fucking pissed that he went straight for the 'let's _kill a child!_ ' option, but he either didn't catch it, or didn't care for the passive-aggression.

Probably the last one. I'd have to be more direct.

Sten nodded. "They are dead, I presume?"

I grinned. "What do you think?" There must have been something on my face that assured him I wasn't fucking around. Satisfied, he easily fell back into his stony, vaguely disapproving silence. Kind of sweet he cared. Kind of annoying. Sweet won. I tried to shake off the discomfort that had settled over me and faced Surana. "How's Oldie doin'?"

Leliana wrapped arm in mine and chided me, "You must call her by her name, Ren. She is a kind lady, with much wisdom to offer."

"If one is interested in the mechanics of allowing yourself to be imprisoned out of weakness," Morrigan cut in, picking at her nails. What a bitch. I mean, I agreed, but: what a bitch. I was actually glad for it — she had all the attention on her in seconds, leaving me in the cold. For once, I didn't even care.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Oh, _here she goes._ " And with that, Alistair started a passionate, touching defense of Wynne's character. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that the conflict delighted Morrigan, in as much as that cold-hearted husk of a witch _could_ be delighted.

Surana answered me with a shrug. "She is stable. There is a chance that she could drift and lose herself, but it is unlikely. Wynne has always been talented at communing with the Fade. Better than most." I nodded, satisfied. I plucked Skeletor from John's head and cradled the feline monster to my chest, wanting nothing more than for Wynne to wake up. I just wanted to lay down on a soft mattress and sleep for years.

Was that so much to ask?

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry Eighty  
.

Wynne woke up. Connor is fine. Really fucked up because he was possessed by a demon and slaughtered half the town. But fine. You know what _isn't_ fine?

 _WE HAVE TO GO ON A QUEST TO THE SNOWY FUCKING MOUNTAINS TO GRAB A **PINCH** OF SOME DEAD WOMAN'S ASHES._

I'M ABOUT TO THROW A **BITCH FIT**. I just wanna **sleep** , come ON.

* * *

.


	5. How Many Token Elves Can One Group Have?

.  
Excerpts from Mihren's Journal: From Origins to Inquisition  
.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #82  
.

On the road to Denerim, which will be the first city I've ever visited in all my months living in this fucked up world (Redcliffe doesn't count, because Redcliffe crammed zombies up my asshole so _FUCK_ Redcliffe). I've taken this time to get to know my new friends — yay! — a little better.

Here's what I have so far.

Alistair — aka, **BEEFCAKE**.  
\- Total bottom. Sub as fuck.  
\- Apparently he used to be a templar which would be grounds for me kicking him in the nuts except he wasn't too keen on being a "mage-hunter."  
\- Was a Chantry boy, but not a very happy one. Kind of that one kid who went to a Catholic school and came out of it convinced that Catholicism was the single solitary reason for the cold war.  
\- Pretty funny sometimes.  
\- Whiny piss baby most of the time.  
\- SUPER FUCKING HUGE.  
\- (Seriously, why is he so tall?)

Leliana — aka, **TEACHER**  
\- I still understand her only half the time because I don't speak French and there's no way she's speaking English. There's no fucking way.  
\- Too nice to me, all things considered about who I am as a person.  
\- Surana gave her some chainmail boots to wear and Leli's been pretending that she isn't sulking about it. Not sure what this says about her but I'm sure it says something.  
\- Still cute.  
\- Was hiding her sweet archery abilities from me when we were in Lothering but I'm not bitter about that.  
\- Even though it would have been nice to fucking _know_ —

Surana — aka, **WARDEN**  
\- Like the most potent of farts: silent, but deadly. She doesn't speak much? But I think it's because she genuinely has no idea what to say.  
\- Doesn't get sarcasm.  
\- Freaks out when she's the center of attention.  
\- Bad ass chick: she had one hour long conversation with Sten the other day and now Sten listens to every word she says. Sometimes all she has to do is think disapprovingly and he shuts up.  
\- I need to ask her how she does that. I want to do it. I _need_ to do it.  
\- Teaching me how to be an elf since I obviously would have no fucking idea where to start with that.

Morrigan — aka, **WITCHY**  
\- When I'm at my weakest moments, she's almost slightly amusing. And then she turns it around and calls me an ignorant, drooling child and I remember that I despise her entire existence.  
\- Eye-shadow game is on point. Who taught her that? She lived in the forest her entire life. Did this bitch learn how to apply makeup from the birds? The spiders? BEARS?  
\- Whenever I ask, she lies. This is true for all things.  
\- I can't trust her at all.

Wynne — aka, **OLDIE**  
\- I'd pay her $8000 for her to fucking _stop_.

John — aka, **THE MABARI**  
\- I don't trust him much  
\- He is suspicious as hell  
\- Poetry, bitches

Sten — aka, **G** , aka **Ginormo**  
\- y'all already _know_ about my main man, G!  
\- He's a HUMONGOUS ASSHOLE and if I wasn't so blinded by his RIPPLING MUSCLES, I would absolutely, completely, unanimously DEPISE HIM.  
\- But he's fucking jacked, dude, so this is how it is.  
\- Just give me piercing blue eyes and a promotion to Captain already. I'm fucking pining, guys.  
\- Shit's embarrassing.

Skeletor — aka, **MY REALLY AMAZING CAT**  
\- Remains the smartest and most loyal member of the squad  
\- #recognize

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #84  
.

I'm hungry.

Witchy was on hunting duty tonight. She's the best hunter in the party so she's saddled with the responsibility of providing for us more often than, say, Surana (who apparently hadn't heard of squirrels before leaving the tower).

Thing is, I put a mabari crunch in her pack the other night — she totally deserved it don't worry about that — and John attacked it and slobbered all over her stuff and I thought she didn't know it was me but she obviously did because she gave me a baby rabbit to nibble at while everyone else got _fish_ so I'm just gonna crawl into a bush and fucking DIE somewhere because I am miserable.

I'm miserable and starving.

And Sten refused to share with me because he's a jerk-off so now I'm miserable, starving, and heartbroken.

I really think I deserve better? I'm not a saint but I'm not an abominable human-slash-elf being, right? A medium person like me deserves medium treatment? That includes being fed but I wasn't so honestly what the fresh fuck, lads?

If Witchy wants to go some rounds with me, she's welcome to it. This boy right here not only has a gigantic fucking sword but comes with a complementary IMMUNITY TO ALL MAGIC.

SHE CAN TRY ME.

 _SHE'LL LOSE._

[ _The rest of the page is covered in doodles of food. They are captioned: fried chicken, gimbap, pork chops, and mom's spaghetti._ ]

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #89  
.

Beefcake's giving me lessons on how to actually fight properly and not swing my sword around wildly in hopes of striking an enemy. Said he was, "tired of being stabbed in the butt by his own team mascot."

At which point I clearly had to attack him to save face. He then proceeded to fucking _own me_ because it turns out that "formal" training beats "random-kid-flinging-his-sword-at-some-trees" training any day of the week.

Go figure.

Time will tell if any good comes of this.

(Doooooubt it~)

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #90  
.

Leliana made us all bathe because our odor was offending her delicate French sensibilities. Oldie seconded it. The only reason I actually ended up washing myself was because Surana mumbled something about having an extremely sensitive sense of smell and she wouldn't mind if we all bathed because we really did smell bad—

So, whatever, I fucking suppose.

I washed Skeletor first, then washed John the mabari second, then washed everyone's clothes except Morrigan's because a) hell fucking no, and b) HELL. FUCKING. NO. Oldie used some handy magic to dry off the clothes before everyone was done splashing around. Then I washed John the mabari again because one wash didn't do much for his stench at all, really.

Beefcake dragged me in while I was scribbling some really manly battle tactics into the dirt with a stick. He tried to get me to bathe, laughed about me being so "young and prudish" when I refused to change out of my clothes, and offered to turn away if it'd make me feel better.

Which, for obvious reasons, wouldn't make me feel anything except supremely uncomfortable. Kind of sulked for a while. Think they're assuming I have some mutilated body parts under my clothes.

Think I'd prefer that to the truth, really.

On the bright side, saw Sten shirtless.

… I mean, wow guys.

 _Wow._

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #91  
.

Things that aren't cool:  
\- Invasive questions  
\- Spending every waking (and sleeping) moment with the same six people + two animals  
\- Having secrets that are susceptible to invasive questions  
\- Being tortured by freaky psycho mage ladies  
\- Oldie  
\- Darkspawn  
\- Witchy's weird mage robes that barely cover anything so we have to keep giving her our warm coats so she doesn't freeze to death why doesn't she just buy a proper fucking shirt?

Things that are cool:  
\- Skeletor  
\- ... :/

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #94  
.

Met some bandits. Fucking annihilated them. My arms hurt but I don't have a purple shoulder — think Beefcake's weird lessons aren't total bullshit after all.

Got hit in the leg tho. Oldie offered to heal me. I shot her down. Might be paranoid but pretty sure everyone's giving me some heavy side-eye.

If Witchy makes a single solitary noise on this subject, I will fight her to the death, bung knee or not.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #96  
.

Learned more about G! Turns out, he's an emotionless asshole because he was conditioned that way! Nobody's perfect. It's not as if his terrible attitude makes his calves any less toned, y'know?

Also discovered through watching him interact with Witchy that he actually really genuinely truthfully _does like me_!

Not like _that_. (Unfortunately :/ ) I just saw what he was like when he really didn't like someone and after comparing that behaviour with how he is around me, I'm pretty sure I'm tolerable!

FUCK. _YEAH._

I'm fucking hyped, my dudes ! ! ! !

Leliana offered to braid my hair. Told her real politely to "fuck off" because I'm a gentleman. I ended up braiding her hair in the end?

Thank god for pushy little sisters. Wouldn't have known what the fuck I was up to if it wasn't for her.

 _Hope she's doing okay without me—_

Haven't thought about them for a while. Dunno if that makes me a bad son or not.

… Probably.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #101  
.

First of all: _Mmm, do you see me standing here? Do I look good my dear? DO I LOOK GOOD TODAAAAAAAAAAY—_

Secondly: SURANA HAS ADOPTED ANOTHER ELF.

EXCEPT THIS ONE TRIED TO KILL US.

NOT SURE HOW SMART THIS DECISION WAS. SILVER LINING: THIS DUDE'S PRETTY COOL.

HOPEFULLY WE DON'T DIE TONIGHT.

.

* * *

.

Eventually after that failure of an ambush and Wynne's careful magicular talents, the golden elf woke up. And wasn't all that pleased about it.

Mood.

"I really thought I would wake up dead." There was real disappointment in his voice. I scowled because fuck if that wasn't relatable— "Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But I see you haven't killed me yet."

Alistair crossed his arms. Bit awkward 'cause his arms were huge and his pauldrons were even fucking bigger. "Don't get comfortable. We can easily fix that."

The elf smirked. "Ooh, you're rather aggressive, aren't you? Lovely, I like it a little rough." Alistair's eyebrows hitched up. He turned to Surana with a surprised little face; kind of like a confused puppy who didn't know what to do when his would-be-killer blatantly flirted with him.

Wynne made a sound of disapproval. "Really?"

The elf didn't seem affected by the none-too-welcoming behavior towards his charms. He just adjusted himself so the ground wasn't so uncomfortable for his back and said, "But if it's questions you're planning on asking me, let me save you a little time and get right to the point."

And right to the point he went. His name was Zevran — Zev to his friends — and he was a member of the Antivan Crows. He was supposed to assassinate some Wardens because Loghain was a gaping asshole. He'd failed at assassinating the Wardens. And now he was supposed to sit there and die or something because he sucked at his job.

Alistair was none too sympathetic. "Too bad for you," He huffed. "Would you rather we have sat here all nice and pretty, gossiping about the terrible Blight that's currently destroying Fereldan while you worked up the courage to kill us for money?"

I didn't give Zevran the opportunity to answer, although he looked like he had some sort of response prepared already. I raised my hand, "Yeah, hey, hi. Quick question: what the fuck are Antivan Crows? Is this something I'm supposed to already know, like dwarves and Dalish Elves?"

Alistair blinked. "You don't know what Dalish Elves are?"

I shrugged wildly. Leliana cleared her throat. "I can tell you that. They're an order of assassins in Antiva—"

I clapped once. Cool cool cool.

"Right. Stop right there. I don't need to know any more — like an entire assassin's creed, yeah? Brotherhood and everything? It's pretty cool because we have templars already and that's not the point, actually, but holy fuck. Go Ubisoft."

The legitimate assassin on the ground made a funny little noise. The group's resident almost-templar sighed. "Will you ever make sense or do you enjoy confusing everyone by speaking nonsense? I'd love to know—"

Sten interrupted coldly, "Are we going to kill the elf or not?"

Abrupt as always, pal.

Surana stared at the elf, Zevran, in complete silence. It was her thing, so I left her to it. Leliana looked thoughtful. "Antivan Crows are very powerful, and very talented. Their services would be invaluable to have on our side. A fine plan, no?"

Alistair made a face like he wasn't sure he liked where she was going with this.

Zevran made a face like this was an incredibly satisfying surprise. He was having a lot more fun than the Beefcake was. "Well, I failed my duty so my life is forfeit. The Crows are perfectly within their rights to kill me; in fact, that's exactly what they'll do. Or try to. You seem the type to make the Crows pause."

Wynne dubiously questioned, "You _want_ to join us?"

"I don't see why not. Is the offer not on the table? I'd be a fool not to consider it."

"You're not that great at keeping secrets, dude. Doesn't say much about your loyalty," I snorted. Snitches get stitches.

"I happen to be a very loyal person!" said Zevran, offended to his very core. "Up until the point where someone expects me to die for failing. That's not really a fault, is it?"

Leliana shifted. "Well. Personally? No," At that, Surana raised her eyebrow. Leliana flushed.

There was probably a story there. But I wasn't interested in Surana and Leliana's weird is-it-a-romance-is-it-not thing, because there was currently a smoldering elf on the ground in a skirt giving everyone bedroom eyes and it was a bit more relevant. "Important reminder: Didn't he try to kill us?"

Zevran replied: "Ah, but I _didn't_ , did I?"

I was annoyed to find that I had no argument to that, but mostly impressed. I bowed my head in recognition of his skills. Alistair gave me a suspicious sidelong look, shaking his head. "Is it really that easy for you?"

I crossed my arms, unashamed. "I am a simple man won by simple arguments. Deal with it. B-T-W, Surana, if we're taking votes, I vote that we keep the dude. For a mascot."

" _You're_ our mascot," said Alistair; _whined_ Alistair, whatever. "We can't just replace you!"

"You can. You really, really can."

"What if I don't want a mascot who is liable to stab us in the back as soon as we're sleeping? And since when has this gone to vote anyway? This can't be a real option, right?"

Zevran said, "If I was to kill you all it would not be so obvious," He paused at Alistair's gaping expression and turned a seductive smile towards Leliana and Surana. "I would choose a much more… exciting method of death. You are Orlesian, no? I am sure you are familiar with a little death."

Leliana smiled. Just a bit. This meant that she loved him. It was not good news. "An Antivan Crow could be an incredibly powerful ally," she explained, "though I would not trust him to prepare our meals."

Alistair threw his hands up. "Or we could _not trust the assassin sent to kill us_ at all?!"

"You do not have to trust me to find a use for me. You do not trust a masseuse with your life story, yes? But you trust them to do their duty as they have explained it to you. There is no trust necessary!"

"You are saying the occupation of masseuse is the equivalent of an assassin," Wynne sounded as suspicious as Alistair, and the Grey Warden obviously appreciated the show of support. "There is no comparison to be made."

Zevran's eyebrows raised. He leered somehow harder. (How? And more importantly: why? It was _Oldie!_ ) "Ooh, I don't know about that. We are both good with our hands. I could show you if you'd like; it could be a part of my duty to your party."

"Dude," My eyes were wide. "Did you just whore yourself out to us?"

The elf blinked at me. "My, aren't you blunt. I don't know if _whoring_ if the term for it — I am hardly being paid for my services—"

" _You tried to kill us_!" That was Alistair.

"To little success, if you recall,"

"Oh, well that makes me feel loads better!"

"You _could_ be feeling significantly worse, my large blond friend," Zevran courteously pointed out. "Significantly dead, perhaps. Which you are not, because my assassination attempt remains just that: an attempt! No harm done at all, I wager, except perhaps to me."

Surana finally spoke up. "And your team."

Zevran grinned, easily adjusting his body language to point seductively in her direction. I didn't even know that was a thing body language could do until right now.

"Ah, she speaks! And with such a dulcet tone, as well. Yes, I suppose my team is rather dead, hm? Though 'team' is a much more familiar word than what I would use. Associates would be better. _Fellow crows who I had no loyalty to_ works as well."

"You have no loyalty to me," said the Circle mage.

"No, but should you choose to spare me, I have a life debt, which is more reliable than loyalty in my humble opinion."

Sten wasn't enthused by the hold-up. "If we are not going to kill the elf, let us take him and be done with it. We are wasting time."

"We should leave him here and go back," Agreed Alistair, "No doubt the witch has burned all our belongings, or raided a nearby village of all its children for her dinner."

"There are no nearby villages," said Leliana. Witchy was huddled back at camp with John the mabari and Skeletor, catching up on some sleep. She'd taken the last watch so Surana was generously allowing her to nap. Her campsite was surrounded by spring traps. Allegedly for enemies but I wouldn't be super upset if she was caught in one.

We were supposed to scout ahead while she snatched some much needed beauty sleep, but since we suck, this entire dumpster fire happened. We were ambushed because, like, none of us were skilled at situational awareness.

Pretty sure Leliana was staring at Surana's ass the entire time as well.

Just saying.

Alistair sardonically said, " _That's_ the part that stuck out to you?" to which the red haired woman shrugged.

"You promise that you will not harm us?"

I tuned back into Surana: she was staring intently in that way she did where she looked through you without even making eye contact. I _reaaaallly_ didn't want to be in Zevran's position. He looked to be holding it well under her gaze but I knew from experience that it wasn't a thrilling place to be. He smiled, all loose and charming. "I give you my word, dearest warden."

Surana nodded. It was that simple for her. Wynne lowered her voice in a poor attempt to whisper, "This is unwise, Surana,"

"I think it's surpassed unwise, Wynne. Try 'downright idiotic.' Maybe 'suicidal' if that better suits you. And here I thought the Darkspawn were going to be the ones to deal the final blow, but _noooo_. It's actually a spiffy Antivan elf who tried to assassinate us!"

Surana sighed, giving Alistair a tired look. "There are seven of us opposing an entire Blight. We need assistance where it is offered."

"Yeah, but," Alistair made a _veeeery_ expressive face, "does it have to be _his_ assistance?"

"Are there any other candidates?"

The human huffed. "Suppose not," He crossed his arms and kept a scathing glare on Zevran: who, by the by, looked way too comfortable being disarmed and tied up on the dirt. "But if he makes one move out of line… my sword is gonna meet his face, just saying."

Surana nodded, smiling slightly. "That's fair. Thank you, Alistair."

Alistair wrinkled his nose at her but didn't seem as vehemently opposed to the idea anymore. I met his eyes and pantomimed a whip, whispering a matching sound effect and everything. His face colored and he hissed, _"oh, shut up, mascot_."

Zevran winked at Alistair and echoed: "Yes. _Thank_ you, Alistair."

Alistair now looked more uncomfortable than tolerant. "Gee, this is going to be _fun_."

Leliana chuckled and crouched to cut away Zevran's ties. The assassin waited until she had stood up and retreated (though he did fit a wink in there) before he got to his feet and dusted off his armor.

The spiffy Antivan stretched his shoulders and spat out a frankly poetic verse of absolute bullshit. "I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation… this I swear."

Complete with a bow and everything.

Surana smiled thinly. Alistair glared distrustfully. "So that brings the party's indebted elf count up to _two_ , which is frankly surprising since I wasn't even expecting the first one."

I had to get on my tiptoes to pat Alistair sympathetically on the shoulder. "No one ever expects the Spanish Inquisition, Beefcake."

"' _Spanish Inquisition'_? Also, are you going to stop calling me that anytime soon?"

"If you don't know about the Spanish Inquisition then I can't fucking help you there. I know shit all about it myself. Only enough for memes." Alistair looked even more confused. "And yeah, dude, the nickname is staying."

"For how long?"

"Dunno, how long you planning on being a beefcake? Until you stop, I guess?"

Leliana beamed at the new mascot elf. "Welcome to the party!"

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #102  
.

It's been exactly one day since Zevran became a part of Team Let's Fuck Up The Blight, and he fits in quite nicely. He's already given me three foot massages, and he's even better at braiding Leliana's hair than I am: he also enjoys gossiping, which entertains Leliana and Oldie enough that neither of them have gotten into an argument with Morrigan yet.

It's so _quiet._

Beefcake's sulking too, but that's whiny loser piss baby rubbish and it's easy to ignore. Surana's attempted to keep him entertained but got distracted because of how badly she didn't want to do it.

(She's learning the basics of poison making from Zevran right now.)

I ended up sitting cross-legged beside Beefcake at the campfire, and I lead the formation with him as well. He didn't do much except sullenly stare into the distance so I sang what I could remember of Queen's songs.

He must have been pretty broody. He didn't even make a sarcastic comment about how no one understood me.

Beefcake's taking not being the favorite horribly.

Told you: whiny loser baby.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #107  
.

G was shirtless _again_ , fuck ME.

[ _There is a doodle of Mihren with steam coming out of his ears._ ]

If Zevran winks at me one more time I will end him

also i haven't jacked off in like two weeks and i'm actually about to implode. i don't like camping. I DON'T LIKE IT.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #108  
.

Bandits attacked us and I ended up getting K.O-ed

Beefcake thought they might be Crows but Zevran shut that theory down quickly. Leliana said that the bandits were for her and then she revealed her super tragic backstory to us

(She really is the lovechild of Black Widow and Hawkeye ? ? ? ? but with 300% more religion)

so we're going to kick this Margarine lady's ass as soon as we get into Denerim which should be any moment now

Leliana's also pretty guilty because I have a literal actual crack in my skull. And I won't let Oldie heal it. Everyone knows I won't let Oldie heal it. Oldie offered and I either told her to piss off or I told her to "swishs wuroff"

I don't know

concussions are asshats

and Skeletor remains the only bitch in this camp that I can trust

[ _For some reason, Mihren has drawn spirals. Probably because he has a mild concussion. The spirals look more like squiggles towards the end of the page._ ]

SATAN'S ASSHOLE LOTR ORCS ATTACKED WHILE I WAS SHLEEPING

HAVE BLOOD ALL OVER MY SLEPPING BA G

GONNA SLIEP W/ SURANA CAUSE SHES THE SMALLEST AND I'M SMALL AND WE CAN FIT

wonder if shes a cuddler pffbt how cute would that be

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #109  
.

oh god she is a cuddler i almost fucking died

…

have watch duty with oldie. not because i'm super fantastic at paying attention to my around things right now (I'm really not ! ! ! ! ) but because i aren't allowed to sleep and oldie is our sit-in doctor even tho she's never been to university

not really qualified if u ask me :-)

I've been writing in here pretending to be busy so she doesn't ask m—

nevermind she's asking me questions anyawy

jus gonna answer them idgaf who's going to believe her? no one. everyone knows i have a weird thing with oldie

if sh'd just mind her own god damn business then maybe—

[ _The entry ends because Mihren fell asleep mid-sentence._ ]

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #110  
.

Denerim's coming up hot. Margarine is about to feel my chainmail seven-toed foot up her nasty French ass so I hope she's fucking ready for that because I cannot WAIT to deliver

idk and we have to find that Brother Genitivi's place bc of that dead woman's ashes thing to save the old man in Redcliffe (zombie town).

Also, G isn't letting me out of his sight. I'm "grounded" or something. Not that sexy of him but I'm not holding it against him. I may have ended up straying away from the group because I could see some Deathroot on a hill (maybe) ((I still have a concussion so idk what the fuck I saw)) and no one realised — thanks, quiet elf feet — until I screamed because I was being attacked by a pack of wolves

You know, there are wolves everywhere in this place. As many wolves as there aren't pigeons. Something's up with that.

G would invest in a child leash if he could

It lowers his fuckability, is all I'll say about that

Let Oldie wrap my wounds at least—

If I don't get rabies I'll raise some hell in this dumb city

Finally raid some shitty Chantry libraries too—

Is it the concussion or the self-hatred that's making me feel like cr—

Witchy told me about a place called Wonders of Thedas gonna check that out. Might have some interesting junk.

I hope?

* * *

.


	6. Ren Earns A Surname And It Isn't Jenkins

.

Excerpts from Mihren's Journal: From Origins to Inquisition

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #111  
.

Good news: The concussion is gone.

Bad news: **Me**. I'm the bad news. Zev said that I was the group trouble-magnet and I couldn't get angry because I think he's right? I'm the team's punching bag, but only for the enemies. No one gets as injured as much I do. I can't understand why. Is it an age thing? Is it because I charge into battle half-cocked all the time?

If this is a curse, I seriously hope it goes the hell away soon. I **hurt**.

.

* * *

It was an exhausting day full of walking, idle chatter, and not a whole lot more than that – not counting when I accidentally walked in on one of the others taking a dump behind a tree (won't name any names; I'm not a monster, or suicidal). Probably why when Zevran suggested that we settle down for the night, he didn't meet riotous disagreement from every direction. Not even from Beefcake, who might have started a fight based purely on principle.

Brought us to where we were now. Tents were up, fire was burning, and everyone was entertaining themselves while dinner was cooking. Things were… quiet; sectioned off. The invisible lines had been drawn, and now we were trying to snatch a few moments of pretend-solitude while it was possible. It wasn't normally 'cause we were seven not-completely-compatible-people frolicking across the country together. There was a Blight: personal days weren't really a thing when 'taking a break' left you alone and vulnerable to fucking Darkspawn or whatever other murderous little creature was waiting for you in the trees.

Freaky.

(Not paranoia if they're really out to get you. Or something.)

Denerim was still a few days away, and if I was being honest with myself – a true fucking miracle because normally: (a) no, (b) hard pass, and (c) honestly I'd rather drown – that made me nervous.

Dunno if I've mentioned it before in any of my other internal monologues, but this Blight business? Terrifying, man. And _in our faces_. It straight up does not leave us alone. Definitely don't put itself on pause and courteously wait for us to heal some sick old guy with the power of a dead woman's remains. Satan's Orcs are out there terrorizing villages and murdering people while we're doing… fuck-all, honestly.

Singing while stirring the stew; chatting up well-endowed old women who aren't interested; glaring at Antivan elves from across the fireplace; notably not doing _anything_ directly related to slaying Darkspawn.

Bit fucking frustrating. Just... objectively speaking, I mean. The ashes aren't even _in_ Denerim! This is just where we're going to figure out where the ashes could _maybe_ be. It's like looking for the Holy Grail, but if we were looking for the Holy Grail in the middle of a zombie apocalypse when we're the only people who can stop it. Doing anything _but_ stop the apocalypse just makes us out to be idiots.

I dunno, maybe I'm just testy about it. Bodahn and I were chatting earlier. He mentioned something about Lothering maybe not surviving the horde that came up from the Wilds – so I think I'm in mourning? Or I'm stuck in the first stage of mourning. I'm in the process of it, probably.

I'm not _sure_ though because I can't backtrack halfway across Ferelden to knock on the Hawke's door and be all: "Hey, did you guys survive? And if not, is it possible that you'll accept 'we urgently needed to fetch a pouch of ash at the ass end of the kingdom so we couldn't do jack shit about the horde' as an excuse for why you're all dead and crucified?"

Like, "okay. Sure thing. Yeah Ren, you're completely forgiven. Except not at all, dickhead, because we're dead and you left us here to die. Brutally. The only reason our vengeful spirits haven't torn you a new asshole is because we've been crucified to our door and we can't move our hands!"

And since I did in fact do exactly that, I wouldn't be able to argue. I'd just have to stand there and watch Bethy cry and have Carver scowl at me because even though he pretends to have zero familial attachment to Bethany, he actually _does_ , and sometimes the truth of that ambushes him with protective, angry emotions that he immediately sharpens and jabs in my direction. Leandra would be crying too – angrier than Bethany though, because Carver gets his anger from somewhere and I'm convinced it's from his mother. I don't know if Garrett would forgive me. Probably not? Family guy, you know.

Shit. _Shit._

From her place draped over my foot, Skeletor flails a leg. I was maybe kind of, like, crying and she didn't like getting her fur wet with anything except John the mabari's slobber. Following a baleful _meow_ , I scrub at my face. "Sorry pal, I'll keep it on the DL. You good?"

Skeletor puffed and returned to her nap. She's pretty cute. I gave her chin a little bit of a scratch and, after leaning into my touch, she glared at me and stomped over to Sten, who would move significantly less than me while he was reading.

Aaaand there went my easy cure for depression.

Super.

A quick surveillance of the camp told me that my little emotion-thing hadn't been noticed. Couldn't be sure if I'm grateful for that or even more put-out.

I wasn't an attention whore, alright? Sometimes you just need some comfort. Nothing to be ashamed of there. Human beings can fucking die from, like, not being touched, okay? It could get ugly. My shrivelled touch-starved corpse would make some of the hardiest detectives cry (real CSI tacky-cop-show detective types too; the ones who are always too cool to be affected by brutal crime scenes, so you know that my death must be especially stomach-turning to draw a reaction out of them. Like that).

Anyways,

I borrowed some stuff from Alistair's tent while he was busy posturing and took myself to the nearby stream. Swords needed a lot of TLC and according to sources of dubious reliability, I was slack on this part of having a sword. In the interest of treating Gigantor 2.0 the way it deserved, I was cleaning and sharpening the damn thing nearly every night now, or whenever we were close enough to a source of water to allow me the opportunity.

I had to say: cutting off heads was becoming _way_ easier when I didn't have to saw through the spine. Sharp blades, huh? Who knew?

The sound of the stream offered a sort of white noise to me, made it easier to get in the zone. Sharpening Gigantor wasn't something that really strained my brain processes so it was easy to lose myself in the repetitiveness of it all. For some time, the only sound was Alistair's whetstone against steel, water running over rocks, and the occasional crunch of the dry leaves beneath my feet when I shifted. Muted, like back at camp, but without the weight: true solitude instead of the fake shit I was being sold earlier.

Simpler thing to relax, I guess. It was hard to explain. You can die from loneliness, but the past few weeks had taught me that you could just as likely go insane from too many people all the damn time. It was important for me to remember who the hell I was without other people in my ear trying to tell me. Besides, I'd travelled alone for awhile before I found Sten, and he didn't waste time on chatter. I'd grown used to long periods where I didn't hear any voice that wasn't my own.

So I get lost in my head, so what? Anyone in my position would do the same. The light pollution from the campfire was enough to let me see – kind of – so that meant I was close to my squad. We were in the middle of nowhere. As soon as dinner was ready, someone would come find me, we'd all eat, and then a watch schedule would be set up. I was safe. I was _supposed_ to be safe.

I… really didn't see the arrows coming.

One in the shoulder was enough to knock me on my side, screaming because OWFUCK, and allowed me to dodge the second, more accurate one that was going for my head. Adrenaline carried me back to my feet, directed Gigantor across my body – the third arrow, I literally cut in half. God, that was badass. How come no one was ever around when I did shit like this?

"What the _fu_ –" I tried, only for the sudden appearance of _four fucking rogues_ out of nowhere to shut me right up. Scouts? Maybe? Holy shit? Only one of them was an archer, and the other three were coming in low. Dual-wielding, light-armour, and so tricky on their feet that I struggled to hear them despite being directly in front of them. There were a lot of violent thoughts happening in my head, but none of them gave me a clue as to how to deal with this.

Not alone, anyway.

Four rogues travelling with that kind of armour didn't make sense, not since the archer wasn't smart enough to clip me in the head with the first shot. They weren't ruthlessly efficient enough to have gathered that kind of loot alone. My instinct was to say that they were apart of a larger group – and my second instinct was to pray to _god_ that I was wrong. Could we survive against a larger group? Bandits didn't come in easily divisible quantities, and we were all tired from a day of walking.

The smaller rogue (dwarf?) swiped at me, forcing me to jump back. I rolled sideways to avoid a backstab: regretted it immediately when it jarred the arrow in my shoulder. Didn't have long to hold onto the feeling when it saved my neck from yet _another arrow._

I raised Gigantor in time to fend off the dwarf, and yelled, "G! Ambush!"

Not a moment later, I felt a wash of cold on my back. One of the mages had frozen a rogue behind me, her blades in the middle of coming down hard. Jesus Christ. A hand wrapped around my elbow and jerked me back – Surana, I realised quickly – until I collided with someone else.

A wrinkled hand touched my injured shoulder. "Ren, are you alright?" Wynne asked as Alistair, Sten, and – the entire fucking gang, god damn, emerged from the bushes like an avenging fury. One of the enemy dashed back into the shadows; before I could draw attention to that, Leliana shot an arrow – missed – and Zevran ran after him. I had to trust that they had it handled. The idea of the bandits having back-up was concerning as hell. "Ren? I need to take the arrow out, can you – "

"God," I spat, freeing myself from her grip, panic making my voice high-pitched, "And do _what?_ You can't heal it!"

"I have to," Wynne said firmly. "I understand your reservations about my magic but there could be more and we need you in fighting condition. Your shoulder needs to be tended to with my spirit healing."

She was making sense. Still, I stepped back. "You can't," I said again. "I'm serious, Oldie. There's nothing you can do about it."

Her eyes narrowed with impatience. "Ren..."

I shook my head again. "Look, it isn't personal, alright? Just – you can treat it later, can't you? Normally? We'll do that – I'll have to deal, but – no magic!" This obviously didn't satisfy Wynne in the slightest, probably because I sounded like an asshole and not like someone who knew that magic would not work on them. I didn't have time to explain that. I snapped off the shaft of the arrow, leaving just enough that it could be pulled out later, and lifted Gigantor. Left-handed time, I guess.

… I'd have to manage.

(I was going to _die._ )

We were following Zevran's path as he chased the runaway, and it didn't surprise me when we emerged to a full set-up. It sure spooked me, though. This was exactly what I hadn't wanted. Thanks for nothing, Jesus.

"Andraste's blood," Alistair breathed, voice caught on something like worry. I could relate. The camp had to house at least nine, not to say anything of who might still be in those tents. We were outnumbered, and none of the warriors were outfitted for this.

"Well," Zevran said in the very short silence where everyone present took some time to process the sudden danger they were in, "this is going to be fun."

One of the bandits took in the body at Zevran's feet, throat assuredly cut, life most definitely ended, and went pale. "...Is that – oh Maker, Tuck?" His face curdled, and just like that, weapons were being pulled out from everywhere by everyone. "To arms! Kill these bastards! Make them pay!"

Leliana shot him right through the eye; more bandits poured out of the tents, and she hissed, "Oh, of all the – " and nailed a particularly concerning bruiser in the kneecap. The only advantage we had was our mages, all of whom were very powerful in their own ways. But we were outnumbered. Seriously, I couldn't stress it enough – we were fucking exhausted, unarmoured, and there weren't that many of us.

We'd manage, I was sure, but it would be by the skin of our teeth. Who liked to win like that? Especially when you had an overarching quest to save the world?

One of the warriors – dude with a shield, in fact, because it was always them, wasn't it? – made it his personal duty to attack my shoulder as much as humanly possible. After I took care of him (with some assistance from Spider-Morrigan), my right side was so shittin' sore that the pain was making it hard to focus on my swings. I sacrificed power for accuracy because if I didn't none of my swings would connect at all. Reaction times weren't impressive either, and I was working up a sweat too early in the fight, lungs burning with the effort of keeping on.

I probably was more trouble than help as much as it stings to admit (though that could just be the arrow). It was a bloodbath, and I came out of it with injuries that embarrassed me to have; they were from slashes and swings that I could have easily avoided if I hadn't been so dazed. Alistair babysitted me practically the entire time, and I owed him my life for it.

As soon as the last bandit was killed, I gave up on standing. Sten's impressive reflexes and bulging muscles let him catch me before I could hit the ground like a ton of really fucked up bricks. Shit, I was light-headed. This – this probably wasn't good, right? "I… oooh, man… guys I'm not feeling too hot…"

My forehead was touched. Alistair hissed. "Don't think 'hot' is your problem, mascot, you're burning! Wynne, can you–?"

"Of course, but I need someone to remove the arrowhead first."

"I'll do it. Sten, hold him down?" Sten didn't reply, just adjusted his hold on me so I wouldn't be able to thrash around. Alistair braced his hands on either side of the wound. It _hurt_ , and I made that much clear. "Shh, shh, Maker, I know. It'll be over quick. On the count of three, okay Ren? One–"

 _ **FUCK!**_

"...Oh dear."

That didn't sound good. I hissed out a pained breath, followed it with: "W-What's the dish, Beefcake?"

Alistair held up the object of interest. My vision was a bit blurry with tears, but unless I was mistaken, it was a normal steel arrowhead, if not covered in some bratty kid's blood. I blinked harder, trying to bring it into focus. Didn't help. I couldn't tell what was spooking him so much, unless it was the blood?

Someone gasped. Sounded feminine. Leliana? "I know that smell! And the colouring – could it be Adder's Kiss?"

"Seems like it. Oh, no no no, kid, wakey wakey!" Alistair slapped my cheek repeatedly, jolting me awake. I hadn't realised I was slipping away. "You don't sleep until someone fills this bloody hole full of antidote. Speaking of, does anyone present happen to have that on them?"

Zevran did; he disappeared back to the camp to retrieve the vial to surprisingly little protest from Alistair. "Not even going to demand an escort? What if he runs?" I tried to say, though it sounded more like, "N't ev'gunna d'man...rt? Whatifheruns?" I didn't blame Alistair for the confusion. I barely understood myself.

That was when Wynne took a knee beside me. "I can ease the pain," she said warmly, maybe concerned, and I gritted my teeth to hold back multiple swear words. "Allow me."

Screw self-restraint. "Oldie, don't you _fucking dare_ , I will destroy you if you lay one single fucking finger on me I swear to god I will never forgive you – "

But Oldie tried it anyway. She must have been sick of my senseless rejection of her selfless offers, because her hands lit up and she moved them towards my shoulder. As one might expect, the magic dispersed as soon as she came too close. If there was a reaction to this, I wasn't aware enough to note it – although there was a confused noise from my right, too loud for me to ignore. Wynne tried again. The results obviously didn't change.

"I – I don't understand – my magic isn't… Warden, if you wouldn't mind?"

I groaned. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Warden, _do mind._ Please, mind as much as you want, just don't -

"Nothing. Morrigan, do you know any healing spells?"

"Not exactly," was the reply. It seemed to come from a great distance. "...but I do not need one." Surana yelled, but whatever it was that Morrigan had very clearly did hadn't left any mark on me. There was a sharp pain against my cheek, and Alistair's voice, but the only sentence that registered was Morrigan whispering, " _Interesting_ ,"

My last thought was pure, unadulterated terror (I knew that tone, I knew what followed it, and I wasn't signing up for _shit_ ) before unconsciousness claimed me. It was a welcome escape, and I didn't even try to fight it.

I _so_ wasn't looking forward to waking up.

.

* * *

.

I didn't know how long I was out for – had no way to tell, could have been a minute, could have been an entire day – but the next time I snatched the opportunity to not be dead weight, I was draped over Sten's back. I must have been pretty out of it, because I didn't make a single comment about the shifting of muscles underneath me, or even suggest an innuendo about Sten's hands on my thighs. Everything was warm, my shoulder felt like it was ripping apart, and my throat hurt.

I groaned. "Ya'll have any ice chips?"

"Ren!" It was, to my surprise, Wynne who said this. Her leathery hands didn't shake when she held my chin and let me sip out of her water canister. "Are you hungry? Does anyone have some meat from last night?"

Last night? We had stew for dinner, didn't we? "Here," Wynne forced a morsel of dried rabbit past my chapped lips. I chewed begrudgingly, accepted another piece, then shook my head at the third. My mouth was too dry, and I wasn't _that_ hungry. "How do you feel?"

"Bad."

"Can you elaborate?"

"My shoulder," I said slowly, "feels like _shit_. Does that help?"

It's kind of thrilling that I was able to make Wynne sigh like that with only a few caustic words. "You're definitely more lucid than you were earlier," was the only thing she said. I was grateful that it wasn't a stern lecture about respecting one's elders: I still was not interested in listening to it.

Sten shifted me on his back. I wondered where his gear had gone. Was Alistair holding it? Morrigan? Zevran? He definitely wasn't, not with me koala-hugging him. "Kadan, allow the bas to treat you."

"But we're bonding, G," I mumbled half-heartedly. Sten was a soldier. I didn't like that I was getting in the way of that because I apparently couldn't walk. "Shoulder hurts. Lots. Hurts to move it, probably, I'm too scared to try. What the fuck is happening by the way?"

Wynne rifled through her pack, letting Surana step forward. "You were poisoned."

"Am I still…?"

"No, Zevran administered the antidote in time. But your wound was infected too."

Not usually a problem when Wynne and Surana could easily disinfect it with their magic. It was basic healing stuff, barely classified as a spell. My stomach turned in on itself at the reminder of my blown secret, and I ducked until my forehead was pressed into the side of Sten's neck. Anything to avoid looking at her. "Ah," I said weakly, and from behind me there was a disdainful snort. No prizes to whoever guessed at the origin of that noise.

"It'll heal," Zevran said jovially. "There were not many mages in the Crows; we had to learn how to treat life-threatening wounds without the assistance of magic, and so, I was able to offer invaluable assistance towards the tending of your shoulder. You are welcome."

Sounded like I owed Zevran my life twice over. I'd give him a thumbs up if it wouldn't kill my shoulder. "Thanks. I'll pay you back."

"Well, I'm looking forward to it." Oh, I just bet he was. "In the meantime, you should continue resting. It seems your fever has broken. By the time you're healthy, we should be well into our duties in Denerim."

Denerim? Already? "We're just outside the gates," said Alistair from somewhere I couldn't see him. "Your health will improve quicker once we have shelter and a bed for you. Although our purses won't thank us for it… While we're on the subject, do you have any silver in your possession? Pay your own way for a change."

I made a noncommittal noise. I'd lost all my money to Leliana a week ago during a game of Wicked Grace. In hindsight, it wasn't the smartest thing for me to play when I had never heard of the game prior to her bringing it up. Leliana had offered to teach me how to play; I'd scoffed, told her that I was a king at poker, and bet every coin I owned on my inevitable success. I was hustled.

"Figures." Alistair huffed. "And after you lost my whetstone, too!"

"Don't whine, Alistair."

"Whining? Who's whining?"

Surana came up beside me. Patted my leg awkwardly. I peeked at her – she was definitely alive, which was all I could safely say about her. Surana had let her hair out of her braids, settling for a tight bun that didn't do a fantastic job at holding back her whimsical hair at all. There were dark smudges under her eyes, either from an unbalanced diet or stress, and the way she was staring at me… it was intense. Warden wasn't doing too hot, aye?

I smiled at her, seedy as I could make it. "Worried 'bout me, Surana?"

"Yes," she said shortly, and if I wasn't so obviously delirious, I'd call that a pout. "Why do you call me Surana?"

Huh?

"'Cause you're the only person here with a last name I know about," I replied slowly, not sure where she was going with it. Alistair's was Theirin except he loudly refused to claim it and I didn't care enough about this backwater country's royal family issues to push it. Everyone else either didn't have a family name or didn't want to share it. Surana introduced herself with her full title – "Warden Neria Surana" – and I'd taken it as permission. "Wan'me t' stop?"

Surana nodded. Put her hand on her chest. "Neria."

I wrinkled my nose. "Yeah? Firs' n'mes?"

"If you don't like it then you tell me your last name and I'll call you by that!" she shot back, eyebrows very angry. I must have worried her.

… Weird.

It was one thing to hear it. Completely different thing to maybe believe it. I swallowed and kind of wished that I could hold out my hand for her to shake, really set the mood and all. Another part of me was happy that I was too injured to do that – how lame, right? "Osmani," I told her, careful with the pronunciation. It was odd to hear it aloud… come to think of it, I was due to turn eighteen soon, wasn't I?

Had it really been an entire _year_ –

"Mihren Osmani?"

"Ren Osmani," I corrected with a roll of my eyes. "C'mon, Surana. G't w'th the syst'm."

Surana stood there, face slack, before her expression lifted itself into a smile that would give the damn sun a run for its money. The joy, I didn't expect, and wasn't prepared for in the slightest. "Might I ask after the origin of such a name?" Morrigan spoke up, ruining the moment. Her tone was carefully flat. I didn't trust it at all. "'Tis certainly not Dalish."

For the millionth – "'M not Dalish, witchy, how m'ny times do I gotta say it?" – except this time, Morrigan replied with, "Oh, I'm starting to believe you, as unlikely as it seems." Right, magic immunity. They were probably waiting until I was healthier before giving me the third degree. I cleared my throat.

"Enough." Straight from the mouth of my main man Sten, and hooboy but I could feel him say it, and wasn't that _something?_ "Kadan, your health cannot improve if you occupy your waking moments with nonsensical blathering instead of more productive outlets: such as silence."

Not one to bite the hand that feeds me, I made myself comfortable. I had a lot of room. Sten's back was really broad, guys. "Ya heard the man, witchy," I bit, safe in the knowledge that it wouldn't take me long to fall asleep. Sten was a nice bed. Didn't smell half as bad as a human would – species thing maybe? "Stuff it."

If there was a response, it wasn't verbal. Either that or the Warden was protecting me from Morrigan's wrath with her aura of badassery. Speaking of: "Sleep, Osmani," Surana patted my leg again. "Alistair, how long until Denerim?"

"Well, o' great Grey Warden, if I could draw your attention to the signs lining this nice cobblestone road, you could read it for yourself –"

Sleep claimed me again. I fucking let it, because I was milking my illness for all it was worth as long as it postponed the conversation. One thing I knew for sure was that if Morrigan wanted to push me, I'd give as good as I got. No more mutilated ears for this elf, fuckers.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #112  
.

I'm still too exhausted to write much so I'll sum up the past two weeks:

We're in Denerim. Leliana's evil backstory villain girl Maureen has been handled. Beefcake met his half-sister, who sucks. We broke into Brother Genitivi's house and murdered someone in there. Beefcake helped out the city guard with some errands and ended up pissing off every mercenary in Denerim. Zev dumped a few bodies using the Chantry well in broad daylight right in front of some nuns, half for quick money, half for the thrill. Neria had a foursome and Witchy is really upset about it.

And I missed **all** of this because I was recovering non-magically from a poisoned arrow and multiple battle wounds.

Reminder to everyone reading this that I **HATE** Thedas.

On the other hand, we are going to Haven (don't ask I don't know what the hell it is or what fresh new bullshit it's going to fling at us). Hopefully I'll be less injured by the time we arrive. Double hopeful that the Blight will go and off itself while we're hiking mountains too, but who knows. Too sick to be asked questions about the magic thing. That or Neria is holding back the wolves because she's an angel.

Someone's going to ask though. Not looking forward to this conversation.

Anyway, nap time. Oldie's insisting that I rest since magic like… I don't know. It's just bedtime, alright?


	7. No Miscommunication! We Talk Like Men!

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Excerpts from Mihren's Journal: From Origins to Inquisition

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* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #113  
.

Credit to Surana. She doesn't sit on her hands for long.

* * *

.

Alistair narrowed his eyes. "Right there — stop."

A dutiful student, I did so. I was sweating more than I was comfortable admitting. It was only a couple of days of bed rest, but from the way my body was reacting to exercise, it might as well have been weeks of nothing. Alistair was helping me get back into the swing of things. He also took the opportunity to coach me on how to use a sword properly, as he was wont to do lately.

He strolled over with an unusual expression of concentration. He took practice seriously, which inspired me to keep the jackass comments to a minimum. He adjusted my form quickly, a hand moving my elbow, pulling my shoulder back into a straighter stance. At one point, he kicked my knees out until I buckled, caught me by the back of my shirt, and said: "Lower your gravity."

If I hadn't already gotten over him, his behavior would have been enough to get me to fall in love. Competency kink: activated.

I kept the stance for a little bit to get used to it, stretched out of it, then did my best to fall back into it. "Like this?"

He corrected my elbows once more, eyebrows furrowed. "Yeah, that's pretty good. Hold it. We should go through some movements until —"

But he had lost my attention as soon as I saw someone coming up behind him. Noticing where my eyes were, Alistair turned around with a smile already fixed in place. It grew to be more genuine when he saw it was Surana. "Hey, it's you! Come to watch the practice? No offence, but I don't think you'll be able to join in. Not really your, er, style."

Surana patted Alistair's arm fondly. "No, it isn't that. Worse. I was hoping to interrupt."

"Huh? Can't it wait? We were just…" Surana stared until Alistair's mouth opened in understanding. " _Ooooh_ , it's that time, is it? Alright, I know when I'm not wanted. I'll go and find something else to do. Like bother Morrigan."

"Please don't," said Surana. "Thank you, Alistair."

Alistair picked up his _and_ my sword, patting my shoulder in comfort. "Nah, don't worry about it. Good luck, mascot."

I watched him stride away nervously. 'Good luck'? Was he trying to kill me? When he was out of eavesdropping range, I finally gave Surana my attention. Crossing my arms defensively, I asked, "What's this about then?"

Hell of a question. We both knew what this was about. "Would you like to go somewhere else, Osmani?"

I pursed my lips. Principle told me to stand my ground, look her in the eye, and have this fucking conversation in full view of the rest of the group. But if it was Surana offering, I was tempted to take it. She wouldn't be too aggressive (probably). If I kept her out of range, even if she wanted to hurt me, she couldn't. Leliana, however, could — I wanted to be out of sight from her, at least, if that was an option.

I huffed. "Yeah. Thanks."

Surana silently lead me into the trees. After a side-look at me, she started scribbling glyphs into the ground. I didn't ask what for; my shoulder was still sore, and I'd like to avoid a repeat of the incident that fucked it up in the first place. Once she was done, she sat down.

I waited, except that seemed to be it for now. Cautiously, I sat down where I was, back to a tree, facing the camp and Surana. I wish I could have brought Skeletor along. "So…"

"Is there a reason magic doesn't work on you?"

"No point beating around the bush, huh?" I laughed, the sound dry to my own ears. Why did Alistair have to take Gigantor away? I wouldn't ever use it against Surana — no matter how this conversation went — but the weight of my sword was a comfort that I was in desperate need of. "There is. Obviously."

Surana waited. And waited. And waited.

"What, you want me to explain?"

"That would be nice, yes," She tugged at her hair compulsively, before she folded her hands tightly in her lap. "I've never… Morrigan told me that it was a rare ability, to say the least of it. She's never even heard of it. Magic immunity that doesn't come from enchantments. There's a bubble around you that completely nullifies the Fade — it doesn't touch you."

"I… know."

She watched me squirm. "Osmani," her tone was very gentle, "what are you?"

The question had a direct line to my temper. I sneered, "What the hell is that supposed to mean? I'm _me_. Nothing more, nothing less. I'm a person. What else could I be?"

Surana shrugged loosely. "I don't know? Even demons can be affected by magic, they're creatures of the Fade. You — it's like the Fade doesn't see you at all. Doesn't acknowledge you. It's almost as if you aren't real."

That was certainly a conclusion. I scowled, my blood beginning to boil. But I meant what I said earlier: I wouldn't hurt Surana. It left me with having to get myself under control, because getting angry with her wasn't an option. "I'm real," I spat. "Believe me, I'd love nothing more to wake up from this fucked up dream but it's been a while since I arrived and I'm still here, so there's _that_ —"

"Arrived?"

I stopped. Surana's eyes were sharp on me. Curious. Wary. The reality of the situation — that if I didn't tread carefully, I'd lose her trust — was like ice water. Chilled, the bravado left me all at once.

I was reminded of my loneliness and homesickness, of the months I spent travelling a foreign planet alone, desperate for any sign that there would be a way for me to return. All the libraries, all the walking, the fighting, the _killing_. I've been doing what's necessary to get home, heinous acts that still disgusted me if I was allowed to dwell on them, and maybe this was my punishment.

Bad karma, I guess. The more people I hurt to achieve my goal, the further away the finish line was. I didn't like killing. I go berserker on people, sure, but I didn't fucking jack off to it. If I could avoid it, I would. That wasn't possible in this world, though; so I did what I had to do. I wondered if my God had followed me over, if His eyes were still on me.

Murder was a sin. Maybe being stuck here was some sort of cruel and unusual divine punishment. No hell necessary.

… I missed my dad. And my sister. And my best friend. I was turning eighteen in less than a month. I could barely remember the way they smiled, the way they laughed.

It would make a depressed bastard out of anyone.

"I'm not…" I breathed through the nausea. The last person to know this about me had tortured me. I'd gotten her back for it, but still.

 _Dude_ , said my brain goblin, _This is Surana. If you can't tell her, then who?_

I'd already told her my last name. This was the next logical step. (Aha, because _that's_ what I was all about — logic.) Go big, or go fucking home, Ren.

"I'm not from this… world… I guess. Beyond the Fade. From a place without magic. The Fade doesn't know I exist because I shouldn't, and don't, technically. Not here. I don't — I don't know."

Surana stared at me, implacable. For a moment, I thought she was unphased by the news. Until she croaked, " _What_?" She sounded like she was going to be sick, which was about right.

I flashed a peace sign. "I think I'm an alien."

She did not know what an alien was, by the look of terror on her face. "Is that what your kind is called?"

"Uh, no. I'm — we're all humans, where I'm from. No elves. No dwarves. No qunari. No blights. Just humans, science, and global warming. When I was pulled to this place, I got" — I gestured expansively to my ears — "these bad boys."

"You're not an elf?"

"No."The resolve I would have had for that statement had faded away. The way I'd been treated lately, I figured it didn't matter if I didn't think I was an elf. Everyone else thought so, and I _did_ look like one. "I don't know? It's semantics. Elves are treated pretty shit. Where I'm from, people who aren't, like, white are treated around about the same way. And I'm not white. The treatment is around about the same, honestly."

Surana frowned at me. "Being oppressed is not what makes you an elf, it's just a consequence."

I cleared my throat. "Right. Sorry."

"Then, you weren't born in Thedas? When did you… 'arrive'?"

"Be close to a year."

"... How?"

"The psycho bitch who brought me here didn't explain," I resisted the urge to scratch the back of my ear. "I was an experiment. She wanted to test the limits of my immunity, probably harness it for herself. Don't know why. She was a real scientist about it. Wrote everything down."

"She had notes?"

She sounded interested, which didn't make me feel too good. _It's Surana_ , I reminded myself.

"I would have brought them, but I couldn't read then," and I had murdered someone, and wanted to get the hell away from the scene of the crime. "To be honest, I wish I'd thought to grab 'em; I'm can read Trade now. I want to know what the fuck was going through her head when she…"

It seemed so senseless most of the time. If there was an explanation, a pattern, behind the bullshit she piled on me… I don't know if it would help, but it was _my_ pain, _my_ body. I deserved to know why, even if it wasn't pleasant.

"...well."

"Do you know how long you were with her?"

I bared my teeth in a mockery of a smile. "Seriously?"

To my surprise, Surana ducked her head, fiddling with her robe. "Of course you wouldn't. Sorry, I'm trying to wrap my head around this. You — it's a lot, Osmani."

"Certainly is," I muttered. Surana looked like she'd been clubbed: dizzy, unfocused, uncomfortable. I scratched my arm, feeling a bit responsible. "You good?"

She sat there in thought. "No," she decided. "The Chantry never… No. I'm not."

"Oh."

Well, damn.

"On the other hand," she offered me a wobbly smile, "it explains a lot about you, and the strange things you say."

"There goes my air of mystery," I said blandly, and Surana's smile didn't look as forced. Triumph. "Listen, I know you don't like hugs. But. I'm open to the idea. Y'know, if you need to touch me for proof that I am not a figment of your imagination."

Surana laughed weakly. "I was just wondering if hallucinations were a consequence of the Joining," she swallowed roughly, but tried to carry on casually. For my sake. "I could have been hallucinating you since Redcliffe. Maybe I'm the only one who can see you. It seems just as likely."

Ha.

"Ditto."

Surana stood abruptly, slightly pale. "I want to find the notes."

I couldn't stop the shot of dread down my spine. "Uh, why?"

She blinked at me like I was dense for not knowing. "So other people can't get to them," she scrutinized me, an apologetic twist to her features, "I'm lost, don't get me wrong. Doesn't mean you aren't important to me. And the knowledge she collected — I don't want that getting in the hands of someone I don't know or trust. Besides, it's about you. You're the only one who should be able to look at that information. Do you remember where it happened?"

God.

She didn't even know what she was offering.

"Not exactly. I know the general region, though, if that—" I swallowed roughly. "Southron Hills. I'll know it when I see it."

"When we have the time, we'll go there." She paused heavily. "Thank you for telling me."

I scoffed, ducking my head. "Like I had a choice." It didn't sound as bitter as it should have. A huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders, which was nice, because one of those had a very fresh wound in it that hurt like a bitch. Great that the trickster god monitoring my life deigned to cut me some fucking slack. "You're intimidating, boss."

"I don't mean to be," she said, the pout audible in her voice. Surana hated being scary. "Do you need some time?"

If I could have laughed it off, I would have already. But the concept of being safe, of trusting someone enough to have told them a secret that could ruin me, had both drained me of energy and filled me with a restless, chaotic desire to lay down and cry. The stress I'd been ignoring for a while now came at me full-force and wouldn't piss off. Seemed that addressing it was the only option.

Uuuuuggghhh.

I would prefer to not have Surana around when it happened. I didn't need to tell her that for her to understand; I listened carefully for the sound of her leaving, before groaning, covering my face with both hands. I kept it quiet, muffling it into my sleeve; it would be embarrassing if they could hear me from the camp. The teasing would be relentless.

I thought I had been doing well until I heard the crunching of leaves. Surana hadn't taken away her glyphs, so it probably wasn't an ambush. Someone must have heard me.

God damn it.

 _Good fucking going. You had one job, you idiot—_

I was about to snap at the person to "go the fuck away" when Skeletor was dropped into my lap. Startled, I stared at my cat, who was wasting no time in getting comfortable. I gave his head a little stroke, relishing in the purring. "Hey, asshole," I whispered. Skeletor meowed back at me.

I looked over my shoulder, hoping to catch who'd given me my fucking amazing, beautiful, spectacular cat, but they had already disappeared.

Whatever. Just be thankful. With that in mind, I went back to petting my cat while silently crying. Not my most badass moment.

Pretty necessary, though. And not too bad.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #114  
.

It's getting colder. My nipples are rock hard. My thighs are killing me. I still haven't wanked in a while, and that's kind of driving me nuts on top of everything else. So, cool.

Hahaha, get it? Cool? Because we're climbing a mountain and the temperature keeps dropping and _I can't feel my nip_ —

Neria was given a "control rod" a little bit ago from a merchant. The golem it belongs to is living in a village nearby, so we'll be making a pit stop. I can tell G ain't happy about it, but from what Zev's told me, a golem would be alright to have around. A big huge thing to take all the hits. Beefcake's excited too; it means he can stop leading with his shitty shield.

It'd be nicer if we could push on and get these stupid ashes. I'm not the leader though so, like, I'll just go fuck myself, I guess.

John the mabari left a half-chewed squirrel in my pack today. Hate that dog so much. Gave it to Skeletor — she loves me more than G now.

Yell Heah.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #115  
.

Braided Leliana's hair. She misses the shit terrible hairstyles of Thedas-France and I learned some things for my sister. I'm a saint, so I told her this. Did an alright job. She seems happy with it and because she's happy, Neria's happy. Brownie points.

Witchy's angry but I figure she'll be like that until she gets the pole out of her ass. Not my business.

Beefcake's still teaching me how to stop stabbing myself when trying to stab other people. He's a real gem. I'd suck his dick in two seconds flat; but because he's a great guy, I'd also cook him dinner. HOWEVER, because I'm a terrible guy, I'd probably put chilli in the dinner and laugh when he cried.

Things are falling into a routine. Kind of nice. Really fucking weird, mostly. The world is ending. You'd think that would be a pressing weight on our necks every waking hour, but it isn't. We're hiking. It's annoying, and that's all we're really thinking about.

"One step at a time," Neria said.

G's getting restless though. Soldier man, always thinking of the biggest fight and how he can fuck that shit up. He has trouble seeing the bigger picture. I should probably talk to him about it. Don't want him snapping at Neria.

Blowjob, maybe?

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #118  
.

[ _The entry begins with a cartoonish doodle of a golem. The golem is crushing pigeons. There is, for some reason, multiple mushroom clouds in the background and the words: 'SHALE: GOD OF THE NEW WORLD.'_ ]

WOOOOOOOOOOOO! We have a GOLEM!

Their name is Shale. The reason I haven't seen any pigeons around Thedas is because every single one of them has been shitting on Shale. Every single one.

Shale is pretty cool for a rock person. Better than a lot of the people-people I spend my time around (Oldie & Witchy come to mind). I think Shale is here mostly because they don't have anywhere else to go. They can stay with us forever if they want; they squash Darkspawn like ants. I want to arm wrestle them so bad.

Back on-route for mystic ashes of dead woman. Still getting colder. Shale doesn't feel temperature, I'm jealous about that. They keep calling me "it" which is not the worst pronoun used to address me.

…

Ugh. Ended up giving Oldie half my stew. She's so fucking EXPIRED that this weather is annihilating her. She's so lame. Doesn't she have a warming spell or something? What use is it being a mage if you don't have warming spells? Anyway, I ran out of ointment so she helped me make some more. Ears don't hurt as much.

I fucking love plants, Jesus.

More lessons with Beefcake. Routine, like I said.

It really is just a lot of walking… I wanna get into a fight.

So. Bad.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #119  
.

Hahahaha I got into a fight. Totally worth it. Witchy is now wearing a shirt.

For the first time in like a week we were allowed to have a bath in the river. Which was cold. And the mages tried to heat it up a little so we didn't die but for obvious reasons, the water stayed cold for me.

No one questioned it when I wanted to bathe alone this time. MVPs. I'm sure Neria had something to do with it. I love that woman, seriously.

I wonder if there was a circle around me that nullified the magic? How big was my range of "FUCK OFF MAGIC"? It would have been easy to tell — just note when the water started changing temp. I was so curious that I almost invited someone in to check. It'd be awesome to know.

Unfortunately, I'd rather choke than let any of them see me naked, so. Guess I'll have to die ignorant.

I nearly perished from hypothermia tonight but didn't because G like… swaddled me. Like a baby. And roasted me in the fire. He really wanted me to get warm, it was dope. He's still pissed that we're moving away from the Blight and I guess he's taking that out on me by being really motherly.

Who IS G, honestly? What a MAN.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #223  
.

We're very close to Haven. Had to listen to Leliana and Neria going at it last night. COMPLETELY unnecessary. Just really gross. I sat out by the fire cringing the entire time. Beefcake was so red though and that was funny as fuck. You win some, you lose some.

Had a chat with Beefcake. It went like this:

"I thought Neria was dating Morrigan." - Beefcake.

"Are you blind? She's been dating Leliana since the beginning." - Me.

"No, no, no. I caught them kissing just the other day! They definitely have something!" - Beefcake.

"Do you not hear them right now? Surana's dating Leliana." - Me.

"..." - The both of us.

"... Dude, is Surana che—" - Me.

"Of course not. Don't be stupid. We spend every waking moment together, there's no way Leliana doesn't know what's happening. Maybe we don't know everything? They could have an… arrangement, we don't know!" - Beefcake.

"... You're nasty. I can't believe you're thinking of them having a threesome. Disgusting." - Me.

 _[A doodle of Alistair Theirin with an exaggerated blush. There is a speech bubble that says: 'I'm a perv!']_

And then Beefcake spluttered some excuses to me and went to his tent. Shale could technically pull off the night watch single handedly because they didn't need to sleep but some of us didn't trust the murderous golem to keep us safe in the night. I am one of them. Beefcake (eternally suspicious) is another.

Zev just can't sleep through the entire night and ends up joining me regardless of how much he trusts Shale. We talked about some things last night.

He definitely has a leather fetish.

.

* * *

The Darkspawn are always a surprise for Zevran — and yes, he knows how that sounds. But truthfully, there are less Darkspawn than expected considering he is in the company of Fereldan's last Wardens. The lack thereof makes them into something of an novelty most days.

The word 'novelty' being a loose term.

The general debate over whether or not a Blight is truly underway makes a modicum of sense. From a certain point of view, that is. The further North a settlement was, the less real Darkspawn were: and as their ragtag party journeyed to Haven, there was a notable decrease in attacks. So much so that not even Sten had expected the ambush. The Blight isn't ever real until you're already overrun, evidently.

Thank the Maker for Wardens. As unnerving as it is to witness the duo shoot out of the tents in perfect unison, fully armed yet still in their bed clothes, it has saved their lives tonight.

Well, theoretically.

They're still in the process of surviving the ambush; still, it's enough to be thankful for. Zevran locks blades with a Genlock; from the right is a pale blue light that turns the creature into an ice statue upon contact. He doesn't waste any time with surprise. He lashes out with his blades — _SMASH!_

The Genlock is shattered, and Zevran sends a wink in the general direction the spell came from. Bets were on the culprit being Morrigan, but the winter-something magic is considered basic for mages. It could have easily been Wynne. If it was, Zevran hopes she'll allow him to thank her. He really would make it worth her while.

"Careful!" He hears from behind him. As Darkspawn obviously cannot speak, Zevran ducks his head in deference to his ally. An arrow flies past him to nail a Hurlock right in the eye with frightening precision.

"Oh, dear Leliana. Am I glad that you're on our side."

Leliana giggles.

She's not the first Bard he's had the pleasure to work with — or against, for that matter — but she is the most competent. It's high praise, surely, but somehow Zevran doesn't think Leliana would appreciate it if he told her this. Not when Denerim is still so close behind them, her mentor's blood still stuck beneath her nails. Fresh wounds and all that.

And Alistair thinks he's _insensitive_. Bah.

There are still archers to be dealt with. Zevran handles them with assistance from Wynne, coating his blades in venom. As fun as this is, he does need his rest. Best to finish this quickly. He makes a mental note to restock on venom extract and dives back into battle with a flurry.

He's barely managed to stick a Hurlock Alpha in the back when he hears a blood-curdling scream.

Surana's too far away for him to hear a reaction, but Alistair isn't, and the senior Warden mutters a word that he certainly didn't learn during his childhood in the Chantry. "Rallying cry," He explains, and Ren lunges forward to relieve the screaming Darkspawn of its head. It's far too late. More Darkspawn charge in from the bushes, vicious and ready for a massacre.

Half the party is still wiping the sleep out of their eyes. Zevran is, of course, completely used to fighting in life-and-death situations with only half his wits about him, but other members of his team are not. Wynne's casting is slower, Morrigan is already chugging back a lyrium potion, and he's certain that Ren's pulled a muscle in his arms due to his sloppy swordwork. (Truly, Zevran could do better.)

"Alistair," Surana shouts, alarmed, and Alistair is groaning before she even finishes, "Emissary!"

"Blast it. As if this couldn't get any worse — hey, no, Ren, get back here!"

Ren doesn't listen: he continues charging ahead, using that inborn Elven nimbleness to narrowly dodge blades. An arrow gets him in the shoulder — and Zevran will be dealing with that archer as soon as possible because the last thing Ren needs is another shoulder wound; Maker, where do they keep coming from? — but his upper armour is so heavy that the projectile does nothing to slow him down.

Still, expensive armor and sheer bullheadedness won't keep him alive against a Darkspawn Emissary.

Not alone.

Does his magic immunity work against _all_ magic? Zevran never had the time to confirm. This is… concerning.

Alistair's bashing in skulls with his left arm and gutting creatures with his right, trying to push through the hoard surrounding him so he can offer support. But fighting Darkspawn with half a mind is never a good strategy, and he's hamstrung as punishment.

Zevran cuts the throat of his enemy and makes his way back to the swamped warriors — Sten is protecting Alistair, whose fallen to the ground, but he wields a two-handed weapon for a reason.

The qunari is not built for defense.

Sten snarls: in an impressive show of strength, his sword cuts in an almost perfect circle surrounding him. It keeps the Darkspawn from closing in, and with that space, he cuts one off at the knees. It gives Wynne the window she needs; as soon as she can see Alistair, she's sending a healing spell in his direction; following that, a rejuvenation spell. The Grey Warden lunges immediately into an attack. Spirit magic. She'll be exhausted.

Zevran supports the best he can by striking quickly and fighting dirty.

Ren rejoins them quicker than expected. There's black blood splattered across his breastplate as the only confirmation that he's killed anything at all. That, and the fact that Zevran isn't being hit by hostile magic.

"You handled that well," He finds the time between enemies to praise. Ren looks far too smug considering how close he was to getting stabbed if Zevran hadn't stepped in on time.

Alistair says, slightly louder, "Ren, we are going to have a talk about your habit of running towards the most dangerous enemy on the field without backup, Maker witness me!"

Ren, looking a bit nervous, chooses to yell, "SUCK DICK, DARKSPAWN! YOUR ARCHDEMON AIN'T _SHIT_!" instead of acknowledging that Alistair's spoken to him at all. Like they're under a spell, the Darkspawn switch targets and leap for Ren, the tiny elf swallowed up by his armor and outweighed by his sword.

Zevran sighs.

He's really not scary in the slightest, but for some reason when the brat shouts insults at his enemies, he's priority number one. Every time, without fail. Never mind that his insults aren't particularly impressive to begin with.

Ha! Well, whatever works, Zevran certainly isn't complaining. It's a slaughter at that point. Ren defends himself while the rest of them pick off the occupied Darkspawn. Soon, the fight is over and the mages are approaching to bestow some healing upon them.

Alistair's first, of course.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"HUH? WHAT WAS THAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

"Oh dear," says Wynne, pressing glowing hands against Alistair's deafened ears. "What about you, Zevran?"

"Nothing a brace won't fix," He replies.

Wynne pulls back from Alistair, who quietly thanks her, and comes over to probe. Not in the fun way. "A wrist fracture. I see. Surana, do you have any lyrium potions? The small ones will suffice, I think," Surana sounds an affirmative, and Wynne quickly downs the potion.

He raises his eyebrow. "There is really no need for this, Wynne."

The old woman purses her lips at him. "You're hardly of any use like this."

She heals his fracture swiftly, moving off towards Leliana before Zevran can assure her that he's fully capable of fighting with injuries. He's quite amazing at it, actually. The Crows didn't leave much room for error.

Zevran turns to Alistair, clapping him on the shoulder. "And you, my friend? How do you fare? No lingering soreness, I trust?"

"Who, me? No, no, I'm good as new. Fresh as the day I was born. Never been better. I'm at my physical peak right now. Nothing could make me feel be — well, there is one thing. Ren!"

Ren is helping Sten out of his armour. His head ducks down further when he hears Alistair; he must be muttering something, because Sten turns as if to listen better. Alistair won't be deterred. He stands and marches over to the Huge Sword Guys with help from his newly repaired hamstring.

Zevran follows. He's interested to see how this goes.

The first thing Alistair does is pull off his left gauntlet. The second is slap Ren on the back of the head with his sweaty paw of a hand. Ren spits out a filthy sounding: "What the _fuck_ was that for, cumstain?" that doesn't carry a quarter of its usual viciousness. Ah, guilt. How it changes people.

"If you're trying to get yourself killed to escape your debt to this company, you're on the right path," says Alistair. "Although you're going to look like a complete idiot if you do that, so I'm here to tell you to cut it out. Here's a thought: next time you see an Emissary, don't charge it, alright? Especially if you're only wearing a breastplate and pauldrons!"

That's true. Ren didn't have enough time to put on the bottom part of his armor. It left him looking like quite the clown.

"It's a good thing you're so short that the Darkspawn didn't notice you weren't wearing any pants! Imagine where you'd be then!"

Ren pulls a face. "Rude? Magic doesn't work on me. Anyway, it's fine, isn't it? I'm fine, you're fine, everyone's fine. Except the Darkspawn, but I don't think anyone's crying over them..."

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure. Morrigan might mourn the loss of a few kindred spirits. No, wait. Don't you dare. You're deflecting with humour. Don't deny it, I do it too, so I can tell when someone else tries to do the same thing. This is a serious discussion. We're having a serious discussion right now. You should listen to me."

"Isn't it the leaders job to lecture the idiots?"

Alistair frowns. "Yes, but considering I was the one hamstrung because you wanted to go make friends with an Emissary, I'm doing the scolding. Is that fine with you, mascot?"

The teenager scowls at that, posture shifting into defensiveness. It doesn't escape Zevran's notice that for all Ren's bluster, he's inching more and more into Sten like he's going to use the qunari as a body shield. "If I agree to stop Leeroy Jenkinsing it up, will you shut up about it?"

"I don't know what that word means. Yes, probably?"

Zevran has a small idea. "Isn't 'Leeroy Jenkins' what you scream before blindly rushing into a battle?"

Ren snaps his fingers and points. His face is blank, but his tone when he speaks — "Yes. _Yes_. See, someone listens to me!" — is completely, orgasmically satisfied. Ren's easily pleased. Zevran's amused by his antics constantly; he's a joy to be around on days where Zevran's having trouble laughing at the people around him. It's guaranteed entertainment.

"That! No more of it! You don't know how to fight, Ren! You can't improvise on the battlefield!"

"Can so. I'm the village's number one most unpredictable ninja, asshole."

"No, you're not," says Alistair, voice strained. "Sten, he's yours, isn't he? Can't you tell him to stop?"

"I have tried. Kadan is too illogical to accept my advice," Sten explains, stone-faced.

"Ren," corrects the elf. "It's Ren. Not Mihren. Not kadan. Ren. R-E-N. I know you know how to say it, jerk."

"No," Sten says, tone final. Ren tellingly doesn't argue. He really is domesticated, isn't he?

Alistair smiles in that insincere way he does when he's trying to hide his emotions with sarcasm and humour. He smacks Ren again, ignores the subsequent stream of curse words that follow, and sighs.

"Great, glad we've cleared that up. Ren, if you break your promise, I will string you up in a tree completely nude for the Darkspawn to ogle at you. Clear? Fantaaaastic. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to see an elf about our travel plans!"

He speedwalks towards Surana, who is consulting a map with the other girls. The area is Tainted now, so of course the party would have to be on their way as soon as possible. Not an exciting prospect, considering they'd all had their sleep interrupted by an ambush. Zevran isn't looking forward to this walk.

Ren mumbles something too quiet for Zevran to hear. "Say again?"

The boy glares. He repeats through gritted teeth: "Did you get hurt too?"

"Nothing serious," Zevran waves off, smiling glibly, "No need to worry your handsome head over it, Ren. I'm immune to the pain of most injuries, thanks to the gentle mentoring of the Crows. And you? Are you healthy?"

"Pulled a muscle." Zevran knew it. "Have a few scrapes that I'll ask Surana to check later, see if they're Tainted or whatever, but I'm fine. Tired, mostly."

"The Blight is so inconsiderate towards the average man's essential beauty rest, no?"

Ren cracks a rare smile. The genuine ones are always the smallest.

Sten closes his eyes as if to pray for patience. For someone who hates small talk and nonessential sounds, he's picked a hell of a companion in Ren.

"If that is all…" He says in a voice strained with a desire to be anywhere but between them. After carefully separating Ren from his front (since the little guy was still sort of hiding under his arm), he briskly walks back to his tent, presumably to pack it up in preparation for moving. Zevran should get onto that as well. But he isn't sure leaving Ren is the best choice right now, not after the maybe-chewing-out he received.

"You worried Alistair, I think," he starts as casually as he dares. Ren's smile is replaced with a frown. "You look so upset! Is it odd for you to hear? You have him wrapped around your little finger, my friend, can't you tell?"

"Right, sure. Beefcake barely tolerates me."

Zevran has to laugh at that. "You sound so certain despite being so incorrect! I admire your resolution, although it's misplaced. You underestimate your worth to this company, Ren."

"I estimate it exactly right, thanks," is the sharp reply. Zevran raises his hands in surrender, which seems to calm Ren down. "I'm a reckless, untrained asshole of a teenager. I insult everyone like, all the time. Not to sound like a little bitch or anything, but I'm definitely more of a burden to everyone than… whatever it is you think I am."

"What I think? Well, since you asked, my thoughts are… hmm, that your low self-esteem clouds your judgement on this matter, and that I am naturally correct on my assessment of your worth. To Alistair and Leliana, at the very least. Or do you deny the Chantry Sister's affection too?"

Ren blushes, which is utterly charming when paired with his sour expression. Zevran's never been much for children, but this one can be adorable sometimes. So easy to tease, too. He sees the appeal. "Leliana's different."

Zevran hums.

"Don't ask me how," Ren says quickly, "I don't fucking know how, alright? It just is. It's different. It's all — whatever. Look, do we have to do this? Whatever it is? Can't it wait?"

"It most certainly can."

"I'm postponing. Indefinitely. For-fucking-ever, preferably, because I don't want to even think about this ever again. Fuck you for bringing it up in the first place. Are you sure you aren't hurt, jackass?"

Amused, Zevran shakes his head.

Ren glares like he knows what Zevran is thinking — he most certainly does not, there'd be a scarlet blush somewhere on that little face of his if he could — and hisses the angriest _"good"_ Zevran has ever heard that hasn't been a passive-aggressive wish for his demise. He stomps away, the black cloud all but physically hanging over his head.

Hm.

As Zevran said — amusing.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #225  
 _._

We just killed like half the town. I robbed some guy's shop. He had jack shit to offer though so it wasn't worth it. Neria's talking to some old guy and treating his wounds so he can drag himself back to Denerim. We're about to find these goddamn ashes.

God DAMN. I want to get this OVER WITH. I still can't believe G talked to Neria like that holy shit i'm kind of mad at hi—

[ _This entry is unfinished_.]


	8. Copy & Paste Canon for Magic Urn

.

Excerpts from Mihren's Journal: From Origins to Inquisition

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #226  
.

I'll be writing a proper entry about the trip when I have the time, believe it.

For now, I'll summarize: DRAGONS.

HOLY SHIT I'VE NEVER BEEN SO EXCITED IN ALL MY LIFE. ONLY HALFWAY THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN AND _DRAGONS_.

GOD!

I HOPE THERE ARE MORE.

* * *

.

Since the moment we stepped foot in Haven, we were fighting. It was unnecessarily relentless, but _did_ have the added benefit of giving certain hot-headed individuals the opportunity to blow off steam.

For once, those individuals weren't _me_.

Sten was a beast in battle, tearing into the cultists like he was starving for it. He was a Tarantino movie; a lone wolf protagonist who needed zero assistance, plus lots of gore. Although I was usually the last person to suggest it, I told everyone to stay back – Sten knew how to fight better than anyone I knew. He was chill.

And I was a pussy; the absolute last place I wanted to be was within Asala's reach.

Surana was more aggressive than usual, the argument at the gates of Haven fresh in her mind. Here's the juice on that: Sten called Surana out on the stupidity of running away from the Blight, Surana told him to shut up, back and forth they went until eventually Surana told him that if he didn't like the way she was running things, he could leave.

And then they had fought. He literally fought her. And _Surana sat him down._ The rough trip to this damn village (I would know, being a major factor in the shittiness of the trip) had shaved Surana's temper down to dangerous levels; when he had attacked, she'd reminded us all why mages were scary – she froze him on the spot, zero hesitation, and threatened his iced-over body with shattering until he got the message.

Naturally, once Sten was unfrozen, he didn't try again.

"At least there's dragons," I said to Wynne, who smiled tiredly. "I'm glad about the dragons. Can we take one with us?" Wynne stopped smiling.

"You're going to die," said Morrigan in fascination. "I hope to witness it."

"Cool, a death threat. Never heard that one before, Witchy."

"Ren…" After hesitating, Wynne patted my shoulder. "How about you go stand next to Alistair and his nice shield, hm?"

I went to stand next to Alistair, who was imitating a sulky Skeletor. He'd tried to bring Surana's spirits up, except it hadn't worked, and Alistair took things like his friends not responding to his humor personally. I stuck with the warrior as we cut our way through the mountain, filling the echoing caverns with the sound of my voice.

(Great thing about me speaking – it was hard not to respond, if you let me do it for a while. I was that kind of person.)

"Ren! There's a mage!" It was Leliana, punctuating her words with a shower of arrows. Who the fuck taught her how to use that. She was a badass. I knew the basics of bow-work; I'd have to ask if she could show me a thing or two. Love child of Hawkeye and Black Widow. God _damn_.

"And?"

" _Deal with them_!"

I got her meaning; even listened. I cut down the rogue in front of me, leaped over his body like a majestic gazelle, and beelined for the chanting mage. It all looked very dramatic. If I was capable of it, I would have been able to feel the magic gathering around her, heavy-set and imposing; every bit an asshole supervisor of the retail job that only pays eight dollars and forty-five cents an hour even though you're qualified to manage the fucking store.

I wasn't about that life, and it took literally two moves – draw back, slash down – to kill her. Flop. Bye, bitch.

Mages tended to group together, hang back, stay out of the action. I'd put myself within their range: there were two more mages like, right there. I kicked a stone at one of them, laughed when it hit them in the face, and stabbed the other. And then Mr. Bullseye as well.

"Well," I allowed myself, feeling smug, "that was easy."

Morrigan snarled (somehow over the sound of the fighting and yelling and clashing steel?): "Praise yourself afterwards, elf!"

"I fucking _will_." I yelled back, hacking at some archers. I hated those bastards. "This is what you deserve," I said to every single corpse. I did this because I was right, and archers sucked unless they were Leliana.

This… was sort of the theme for the entire trip. I'm tellin' ya: shit gets repetitive. Since Wynne couldn't use any rejuvenation spells on me, I relied on my own Pepper Up potions (Sidenote: Please don't sue me, J.K. You don't even exist in this world, your lawyers can't touch me and also it's the most accurate name) to keep the exhaustion at a distance. Much less effective than magic. Tasted like dirt as well. But did I complain about it?

Yes. Because it tasted like _DIRT_. I just wasn't allowed to complain for very long because, like, there was a cult to eradicate.

Came across a guy who asked us to entertain his blood kink and mess up that woman's ashes. Surana was like, "Are you daft?" and that was literally the end of that. We fought more. I rolled my ankle. Because I was running low on potions as it was, I kept the information to myself.

"Not much else going forward, is there?" I asked. I picked up the leader's weapon. It was covered in his blood, but pretty light despite the slipperiness. I juggled it between my hands, testing the balance. "Huh. It's alright." Not _great_. Certainly not any better than Gigantor 2.0.

John the mabari barked in disbelief. I looked at his hideous face, frowning. "What?"

"I think he's confused," Surana was eyeing the two-handed weapon strangely. "Isn't it heavy?"

"Not really," I swung the thing. Surana _jumped_. "What? It's fine, seriously it is. A little long."

Alistair sniggered. "You're just small."

I flipped him off and ignored whatever else was said. "Anyone want this axe?"

"No one uses an axe. Discard it."

"Someone might want it," I muttered at Morrigan's back. She turned around to raise her eyebrows directly at my face. Pious bitch. "Alright, whatever, I'll leave it here I guess. Waste of a good weapon. I would have killed for something like this when I was living life as a hobo, you know."

"You _have_ killed for it," said Morrigan, dryly, "and have discovered no use for the weapon. Or do you want to haul across the country an axe that you will never use? The decision is yours, elf. Just decide quickly."

She walked off dramatically, even though there was nowhere for her to go. She had a point. I'd have to leave it behind if I wasn't going to use it. As I was about to drop the thing and leave it to rust, a spiteful Alistair came up to me with his hand held out.

"Here, gimme it. You said it wasn't heavy? I might be able to use it with my shield" – I gave him the axe. The axe clattered to the ground, Alistair too much of a limp noodle to hold the fucking thing up – " _holy shit_."

I scoffed. "Dude. Pathetic."

"That isn't light, Ren!"

" _That isn't light, Ren._ "

"Don't _mock me_ – ugh, this is another one of your weird quirks, isn't it? You're entirely against nature, Ren, I want you to know that."

I grinned. "Thanks, Beefcake."

He wrinkled his nose at the nickname, storming towards Shale and Zevran while muttering some bitch baby comments. Surana, the vulture, was picking through the pockets of the cult leader methodically. Her face kept scrunching up whenever a waft of death hit her, but she remained diligent.

She fished a rock out of one of his pockets and squinted at it. Her ears perked up when she recognized whatever it was. "Wynne, can you check this out? You know about runes, don't you?"

"Indeed. Do you recognize one?"

"Maybe. A little. I was never much interested. Do you think…"

They descended into whispers. 'Runes' sounded inherently magic, so I kept my distance. I didn't know how my Fuck Off circle worked around magical/enchanted objects yet. I weighed the axe in my hands, sitting down to stare at it. It was also good to keep the weight off my ankle. It was a nice axe. I didn't wanna dump it.

That's when I got the idea – I could sell it!

I was broke. I could use the extra coin. I'd carry it around and try to get it for a good price; we ran into lots of merchants on the road, one of them was bound to cough up a sovereign for me. I'd never owned a sovereign before. I had a feeling it was going to be dope as fuck.

Plan made, I strapped the axe onto my back underneath Gigantor. No one else would carry my money-maker, and the weight wouldn't kill me. Except I forgot that I'm a fucking idiot, a crucial piece of information that waved hello as I stood up.

The sudden weight was _hell_ on my ankle, and I swallowed an unmanly squeak as I hurriedly stopped using my left foot. Ow, _**fuck**_.

"You motherfucker," I whispered at my foot. My foot didn't respond. Cautiously, I lifted my pants up a bit, enough to expose my ankle, and winced at what I saw. It was already swelling. Why didn't I wear shoes again? It would be easier to hide if I wore shoes.

I dropped the pants and fished around my pack for a health kit or something. Maybe I could strap it? Did I know how to strap it? Did you strap rolled ankles? What if it was something more serious?

… Nah, if it was broken I wouldn't be walking on it. Waddling on it. Whatever. It was manageable. There wasn't a full flask in my pack, but I had a lot of leftovers in various bottles, which, combined, made up to about a quarter of what I needed. My potions were always jacked up with turmeric and holy basil – nature's badass painkillers. This little serving wasn't gonna help much. Better than nothing.

I tried my ankle again. I hissed a breath through gritted teeth; I was able to walk, albeit painfully. As long as I didn't get into a fight before I could restock at camp, I'd survive.

I wish magic worked on me. _Good_ magic. Alistair, Sten, Zevran and Leliana were all wounded in battle; they'd had those injuries tended to already. As the most inexperienced, _I_ should've been getting that sweet, sweet healing. I was hurt the most. I was a moron.

What the fuck, you know?

My main man, Sten, came over to me determined. I'd tell you what face he was making but considering he only had two emotions, I'll let you guess.

"You're injured."

Caught. Didn't take long at all. " _You're_ injured," I said mulishly.

Sten was unamused. "How severe?"

"Zero. Zero severe. None hurt, left beef. Am not injured."

"Kadan."

"I'm not that either." I clicked my tongue obnoxiously. "Keep your voice done, will ya? Jesus."

"Sit."

I crossed my arms. "I didn't come all this way to sit down, G."

"And yet, it is what you will be doing." Sten narrowed his eyes. "You are not a child. Do not make me treat you as one."

The tone left a lot to be desired, but – he said I wasn't a child. G said that. _G._ I beamed. "Did that last blow knock a few screws loose or did you just say that I'm not a child? I'm gonna cry, man."

"You have purpose. Unfortunately," he stressed before I could get carried away, "your soul remains immature and petulant. You excel in making poor life choices. Walking into potential danger with an injury that hampers movement would be an example of such a choice." I kept silent. Sten sighed. "Stop smiling at me."

"I have _purpose_!"

"Surely you didn't need me to inform you of it before you noticed," said Sten, exceptionally flat. "That would be humiliating."

I punched his shoulder, bro-like. It was platonic because I didn't cop a feel like usual. "You've been so nice to me lately, y'know, what's up with that?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I can stop."

"God _,_ please don't. I was just asking. You used to think I was the scum of the earth. This is some nice character development. I'm giving it a good Yelp review."

"Your nonsensical babbling hasn't distracted me from your injured ankle."

I slumped. "You couldn't even pretend?"

"No," Sten pursed his lips. "Do not continue on."

"What if I do it anyway?" He breathed deeply. A yes to anger: Sten's second emotion. "'Cause I'm gonna do it anyway. I'm not missing out on this. There's a dragon out there, G. A _big one_."

That made Sten pause. "It will be glorious," he intoned respectfully. A third emotion on the same day he showed some maybe-affection towards me. Would wonders never cease? "I will tell you about the experience in vivid detail. You'll feel as if you were there."

"I _will_ be there."

Sten looked at me like I was a bit of an idiot.

"Fuck you, dude. It's not a huge deal."

"You could die."

"I'm a bad bitch. I'm fine." Sten wasn't budging. It occurred to me that he was concerned in that stone heart. The thought was humbling. I knew how I felt about this grey giant, as well as I knew that it wouldn't ever be mutual. Being considered a friend was the next best thing. I hadn't prepared for how _important_ it would make me feel. How fucking gay. "I'm coming, non-negotiable. If it makes you feel better, I'll stick at the back, keep out of the fight, but I _am_ going with."

"A compromise."

"Yup."

"Hm. You will stay at my side." Damn. _Doki doki_ , I guess. "This isn't a request."

I scratched the back of my neck, annoyed to find it was slightly warm. "Sure, whatever, let's shake on it." I held out my hand. Sten sneered at it. I reclaimed my hand. "Alright, fuck you. I'll let you babysit me. Even though you said yourself that I'm not a kid."

"I've changed my mind."

"Wha–"

"We're moving out!" Called Wynne, hands around her mouth. "Is everyone prepared?"

Sten sent me an arch look, pointedly not replying. I patted his arm again, grateful for his silence. After a round of affirmatives, we exited the mountain. I didn't realize I was so claustrophobic until I was outside: we were at the peak of the mountain, and it was kind of gorgeous? The air was clean; thin, cold, but so, so clean. We were surrounded by carved stone, open sky, and absolutely no noise except for that which we were making.

On that topic – we were noisy fuckers, oh my god.

"We're jingling," Zevran whispered. "Do we want to be jingling?"

"It's fine," said Leliana. She took a step. Her armor tinkled. "The dragon will not wake up to a little jingling."

Surana was deathly pale. Clearly, she thought that the dragon would wake up to a little jingling. "Whispering isn't helping," She ordered (in a whisper). "Shh!"

Leliana made a noise of affront. "If the dragon is going to wake up, it won't be because of our talking, my lo–"

" _Shh_."

Morrigan coughed to cover her smirk. Leliana shot her a look of pure poison. She wanted to say something, holding back only because her relationship with Surana would be in dire jeopardy if she spoke another word. The sentiment was carried through her expression. I was slightly proud.

Zevran was right: the group was jingling like an over-decorated Christmas tree. I wore light stuff and I was making a fair bit of noise. Alistair and Sten were twice as loud with elaborate full-sets of armor, and that wasn't counting the clatter of Leliana's accessories. The mages, who wore enchanted cloth, and Zevran, a trained assassin of the night, were the only silent walkers.

Shale was a huge person made of stone. So...

(Ever filled a container with rocks and shook it around? Imagine that, but ten times larger and unafraid of fighting a dragon.)

We made the walk across the mountaintop in tense silence. With every footstep, I thought for sure it would be it. We were going to wake up the dragon. We were so noisy, and we were going to wake up the dragon.

It was hard to hold back the excitement.

Dragons, man.

But thanks to Surana's silent, fervent prayers, we made it to the other side unharmed. She held the door open, ushering everyone in, closing it very carefully behind me. As soon as she had, she sighed loudly, distraught, and reached backwards without looking to grab Morrigan's hand. The hedge witch, surprised at the contact, allowed it. She seemed amused.

"Tense, are we?"

"Maker, I don't want to do that again."

"Don't celebrate too early, there's still the walk back," said Morrigan. She laughed when Surana whimpered, the sound strangely lacking in its usual venom. Huh. Guess Alistair was right. "You will be fine. 'Tis hardly the most dangerous thing you've done, Warden."

Surana scoffed, tightened her grip, then released it. "Let's just get this over with," She said quietly. Morrigan's teasing seemed to have settled her, because she stood to her full height and looked across the room. It was dark, an ancient design that had miraculously withstood the abuse of time. The columns were engraved with typical religious nonsense; Surana dragged her fingers over the stone. "Feels good," was her verdict.

Leliana stared at the dude.

Oh yeah, there was a guy. I was ignoring him because Surana and Morrigan but, there was definitely a guy in here already. Kind of transparent. Standing guard at another door, also engraved with patterns. The entire thing screamed ostentatious religion. We were definitely in the right place.

Shale grumbled, hunched over. I grinned. "Small, is it?"

" _Very_ ," they said disdainfully. It made me laugh.

"Hello," Leliana said, drawing everyone's attention to the sentinel. "Are you a cultist as well?" She said this all pleasantly, as if she wasn't covered in cultist blood. Nuns.

"I bid you welcome, pilgrims. I am the Guardian." His voice didn't seem to be… all the way here, if you get my meaning. Like, obvious ghost. His voice was not coming from his body and it was evident. "It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for th–"

"So the Urn _is_ here?" I interrupted. Leliana and Wynne smacked me with impeccable timing. " _Ow_!"

"Manners!"

" _Sorry_."

Neither women looked eager to forgive me. The Guardian kept them from really getting into me, by staring at me with an expression of honest surprise. "I did not see you," He said, continuing before I could lose my mind about what I assumed was a height joke, "It is still very challenging although I know you are there. I have never before encountered… your presence is faint, should I focus, yet..."

I blinked. "Yeah," I agreed blandly, "magic don't work on me."

"I would think so," The Guardian agreed. "Only exceptionally powerful beings could be aware of your existence."

His scrutiny didn't make me uncomfortable; I'd learned the difference between innocent curiosity and psycho curiosity by now. The Guardian seemed confused, shallowly fascinated, and probably wouldn't pursue the topic needlessly. Other people couldn't tell what I could though – such as Alistair, who was now half-standing in front of me. I was sandwiched between him and Sten. Not the worst place for me to be.

"Sooooo… you're exceptionally powerful, are you?" He said awkwardly. "Nice to know. Any chance that you can step aside and let us find the Urn? No need for violence."

"I would not fight you. It is not my place." Cue a childish look of delight from Alistair. "You have come to honor Andraste, and you shall, if you prove yourself worthy. That is the purpose of The Gauntlet."

"The what?"

"It is a series of tests to prove yourself worthy and faithful. If you do, you will be allowed to take a pinch of Andraste's ashes. If not…"

Zevran nodded amiably. "Ah, I see. _Violent_ religion."

"It is merely to tell true pilgrims from the false."

"And the false pilgrims will die, of course," said Zevran.

The Guardian did not falter. "You will see how your soul fares, pilgrim."

"Guilt." Shale sighed. "Religious minds are often preoccupied with guilt. I am not surprised."

"Hurrah. I'm so excited." He actually looked like it too, except you could bet on Zevran bullshitting you at least 70 percent of the time, and I doubted this was such a thrilling concept for him. Zevran didn't strike me as the most religious guy. "Warden?"

Surana shrugged uncomfortably. "We can't turn back now. We'll enter the Gauntlet."

"Very well. Before you go, there is something I must ask." Morrigan made a disgusted noise at the Guardian, who ignored her with due diligence. "I see the path that lead you here was not easy. There is suffering in your past – your suffering, and the suffering of others. Jowan was discovered by the templars. You were helping him. Tell me, do you think you failed Jowan?"

Surana froze, standing in confused, horrified silence. It took a prompting noise from Leliana to start her up. "How did you know about that?"

"Your path is laid out before me and plain to see – in the lines of your face and the scars of your heart."

That was… not very helpful. Surana did not seem as confused, however, so I kept my mouth shut. I didn't know who Jowan was, but he must have been important if he made her look like that. "Be wary," Morrigan said, staring defiantly at the Guardian. "One must wonder what this one's purpose is."

Surana still wasn't answering. And then, all at once, she seemed to shake herself out of it. She rubbed the soft material of her robe between her thumb and forefinger, eyes darting across the room. I hadn't seen her so uncomfortable in a while. The surge of protectiveness nearly knocked me over. "I… I don't want to say."

I would've thought the Guardian would insist, but the thing didn't. "You know your own heart," He said. Morrigan was looking exceedingly smug by the non-answer; in contrast, Wynne seemed critical of the silence.

"Now you've made me curious," Alistair attempted to joke. Surana still wouldn't make eye contact. He shot a little glare at the Guardian for that. "Good job!" He said grandly.

This show of attitude ended up with him pinned under the ghostly stare of the Guardian. "Alistair, knight and warden… you wonder if things would have been different if you were with Duncan on the battlefield." Very abruptly, Alistair went pale. "You could have shielded him from the killing blow. You wonder, don't you, if you should have died, and not him?"

Alistair ducked his head, shoulders set like he'd hurt a muscle – I'd never seen _him_ this shaken either. I felt the same way about it as I did with Surana; this time, I did something about it. "Next question," I barked, cutting Alistair off.

Really, did he _need_ to? We all knew what Alistair was thinking based on his face alone. _Yes_ , loud and clear. No fucking way was I going to let him confess that.

Wynne lifted her chin. It was weird to think it, but I could tell. In that moment, me and her were united in a weird need to turn the attention off of Alistair. "Ask. I am ready."

The Guardian started on some bullshit about Wynne being a know-it-all – old news – and whether she doubted some stuff, I dunno. I was busy staring intently at the back of Alistair's head. He wasn't supposed to bow like that. I could see him choking back something, throat working, and God, this was so awkward.

I was awkward-mad.

"... frame the statement in the form of a question, yet you already know our answers..."

"Beefcake," I whispered while Wynne answered her whatever-it-was. "How you doing? Scale it. One to ten. Hit me."

Alistair dragged his hands down his face, croaking, "Solid fifteen, mascot, clearly."

"Want me to make a scene?"

"Maker, no. Just… just leave me to it… I have a handle on it by now."

'It' was the general feeling of grief, I assumed. I tuned back into the conversation: Zevran, trying to pretend that he was excited. The Guardian saying, "Many have died at your hand. But is there any you regret more than a woman by the name of–"

Zevran, no longer pretending at anything. He looked furious. "How did you know about that?!"

"I know much; it is allowed to me. The question stands, however. Do you regret–"

" _Yes_. The answer is yes, if that's what you wish to know. I do. Now move on."

Alright. Time out. How the hell did this Guardian dude have a direct line to everyone's special traumas? When the Guardian turned to Sten, I think I might have physically puffed out my chest in an attempt to intimidate the thing. No _way._ Not _Sten._

The qunari put his hand on my shoulder, surprising the hell out of me. Sten didn't really do contact. But he did it then, and I went incredibly still. He told the spirit to demand its answer.

"You came to this land to observe the Blight, but you were ambushed by Darkspawn and let your shield-brothers die. You did not even collect their swords, denying them a proper burial. Did you fail your brothers?"

Sten's fingers clenched around my shoulder. "I have never denied that I failed."

The Guardian turned to Leliana. I dipped my head back to look at Sten's expression. Stone, as always. If he wasn't gripping my shoulder, I wouldn't have known the question affected him at all. But it must have. He was still holding me, so it must have. "You good?"

Sten glanced down at me. "I am fine."

Obviously lying. I clicked my tongue. "It wasn't your fault, G."

"Perhaps not. I have the opportunity to wonder due to your intervention, kadan. I am thankful."

Typical Sten. I try to comfort him and he insults me. I scoffed. "Loser."

See if I ever tried that again.

Leliana was duking it out with the Guardian (something about her being an attention-seeker; blatantly false, she wouldn't have hidden her kickass archery abilities if she wanted attention. Lothering needed Leliana more than ever, and she didn't reveal herself until the very last minute). It seemed to me like the spirit had it out for her.

The Guardian, when it talked to an unimpressed Shale, waxed poetry about how Shale being alive was a test of will and courage. There was little it could draw from the stone giant, an echoing of a dormant soul, some shit about Shale realizing all they had lost the longer they were awake – Shale wasn't having any of it. "Good for you," they said mockingly.

The Guardian ended up giving them his respect.

I… honestly could relate. Shale was hilarious. Not even religious spirits could resist it. I jumped when the Guardian turned to me. He didn't _look_ , I didn't think he could see me, but he definitely knew where I was. "Mihren, your existence does not allow me much… you feel that your body betrays you; the nightmares are constant, relentless. There is a persistent doubt in your reality: this one, and the one you knew before."

Oh.

"You wonder if you aren't fighting hard enough to return where you belong. If your family could accept you after everything you've d–"

 _Ooooh._

"You're good at this, bro," I said. I dwelled so much on this shit, cried about it enough that the mentioning of it didn't do much to unearth my emotions. I was free enough with them as it was. Unlike the rest of these losers, I _had_ coping mechanisms. This? Was _recovery._ "Yup. That's my answer. Hell yeah."

"Very well. And you, Morrigan. Flemeth's daughter… what–"

Morrigan flicked her wrist in contempt. "Begone, spirit. I will not play your games."

The annoying part was that it actually listened. "I will respect your wishes. The way is open. Good luck."

It then… stepped aside.

Zevran made a noise worthy of Morrigan. "What, that's it? We just walk through?"

"Yes."

"I'm with Zevran on this one. After all that, you're letting us through? It's that easy?"

The Guardian tilted his head. "You considered this easy?" Alistair paused, gotten. "You may go through."

"Religion loves self-flagellation," said Shale. "This should not surprise any of the its. Let's get this over with already, Warden. I detest caves."

Surana stared at the Guardian, emitting a powerful aura of disappointment. She silently opened the door, and we moved on – just like that.

I really did hate Andrastians.


	9. Ren Didn't Vote For This King

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Excerpts from Mihren's Journal: From Origins to Inquisition

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* * *

.

The next room had six spirits lined up along the walls. Sten said something mean about mages. He was ignored, his opinion hardly the main cause for concern in this situation. "Is this an ambush?" Shale asked, damn thrilled. "I've never squashed a demon before."

"Those aren't demons," Wynne narrowed her eyes. "They are spirits. They will not attack us if we do not provoke them, Warden."

Surana, although clearly unconvinced, took Wynne for her word. "Let's try this out then." She walked to the closest ghost-thing, an aged woman with short hair and drabby clothes. The two women stared at each other – or in Surana's case, foreheads – in awkward silence. "Uh, hello?" Surana attempted.

"Echoes from the shadow realm, whispers of things yet to come. Thought's strange sister dwells in the night, is swept away by dawning light. Of what do I speak?"

Surana was startled. "What?"

"Incorrect," replied the spirit; the woman melted away. In the place where she once stood was a black circle, swirling and emitting some black ashy shit.

Surana stumbled back, fingers fumbling for her staff. "Demon!" She said sharply, finally arming herself. From the black circle, arms came out, the demon pulling itself up. Surana smacked the head with her staff, and in response the demon roared, raw and unholy. "I thought you said I didn't have to provoke them, Wynne!"

Wynne cleared her throat to answer, interrupted by Morrigan. "Perhaps you shouldn't trust a Circle mage on matters of the Fade, Neria."

"Ex _cuse me_?"

"Could you save it?" Shale stomped forward and stepped on the demon. It screamed again under their foot, thrashing violently to be free. It was a massive grey thing with no legs and two large, hooked arms. Prime for smacking, I was sure. Shale dug their heel into the beast until it released one final cry, exploding into dust. "That was very simple. Are all demons so easy to vanquish?"

"No, it's just you." Alistair kicked the pile of ash, then sneezed. "You're handy to have around, Shale."

"I'm swooning," Shale replied sarcastically.

Surana dusted her robes, frustrated. "Let's move on," she stormed over to the next spirit: a young girl. "Do you have a riddle for me as well?"

The girl harrumphed, lifting her head. "The smallest lark could carry it, while a strong man might not. Of what do I speak?"

"Do we have to answer it?" Alistair whispered to Surana. After what happened last time, we were not going to say anything to the spirit that wasn't the correct reply. "If we get it right, do they let us go?"

Surana pursed her lips. "How am I supposed to know that, Alistair?"

I raised my hand. Wynne looked alarmed by it. "Can you repeat that?"

I thought Wynne was going to slap me over the head again, she had that aura about her. The spirit didn't even say anything though, or transform, so I don't know what the problem was. Since the spirit was silent, Sten helped out. "The smallest lark could carry it, while a strong man might not."

I smirked, overly proud of myself. "A tune," I answered. There was no reaction. I tried again – "Tune. Are you listening? Tune. _Tuuuune_. Guys, what–"

"She cannot hear you," said Morrigan knowingly. "She is a spirit, elf. You are you. Here: the answer is 'a tune'."

The girl smiled widely. She notably did not turn into a demon, which was always nice. I felt multiple eyes on me – actually, it was everyone, staring at me with surprise. I frowned at them. "What? I like riddles."

"You can't even read Common," said Alistair.

"That doesn't make me _dumb._ "

"Yes," said the spirit in a musical voice. She stared at Morrigan, supposedly the person to have answered the question. "Yes. I was Andraste's dearest friend in childhood, and always we would sing. She celebrated the beauty of life, and all who heard her would be filled with joy. They say The Maker himself was moved by Andraste's song, and then she sang no more of simple things."

She faded away. Zevran squeezed my bicep. "Shall Ren lead the questions then?"

Surana scrunched her nose up. "I've never been good at word games…"

"That a yes? Splendid." Zevran pushed me towards the next spirit. This one was bald, and an elf. "Go ahead!"

"I'd neither a guest nor a trespasser be; in this place I belong, that belongs also to me. Of what do I speak?"

Leliana whispered, awe-struck: " _Thane Shartan_?"

I ignored her. The word 'guest' kind of gave it away. Actually, most of the riddle reminded me of an inspirational cat poster. 'Home is where the heart is' or something. This was the kind of riddle that could easily be made into a plaque to hang on your wall; I was pleasantly surprised. "Home?"

Morrigan repeated me. "Home."

It must have been correct, because we weren't attacked. "It was my dream for the people to have a home of their own, where we would have no masters but ourselves. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and thus we followed Andraste against the Imperium. But she was betrayed, and so were we."

With that dramatic ending, he faded away just as peacefully as the young girl had. Several hands clapped my back, excited by the progress. "We won't even have to fight anyone!" Alistair celebrated.

"Joy," said Shale. They followed it with a deep sigh.

"It's a shame they cannot speak to you," Wynne said. "The presence of spirits doesn't appear to bother you. I believe you could learn much from them."

"Not much weirder than magic," was my justification. "There isn't much that could surprise me by now."

Surana understood. She sent me a crooked smile, looking proud of me. What an ego-boost. The next riddle-maker was a stern woman, red hair pulled tightly into a bun. She sounded angry, which was immediately cause for some alarm. But there wasn't an attack. I guess she was bottling a lot of shit up in the afterlife. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. The debt of blood must be paid in full. Of what do I speak?"

Huh. Easy.

"Vengeance," Zevran said without hesitation. He smiled apologetically at me. "Sorry to steal your thunder. I couldn't help myself."

"That one _was_ pretty obvious," I said. 'An eye for an eye' was a common saying in my world. It must have been the same for the Crows for Zevran to answer as quickly as he had.

The woman lifted her nose arrogantly. "Yes. My husband Hessarian would have chosen a quick death for Andraste. I made him swear that She would die publicly with Her warleaders, that all would know the Imperium's strength."

Then: goodbye. Leliana made a noise. "I believe that was Lady Vasilia. Oh my goodness. Are all of these spirits–" She covered her mouth, gleeful. "By the Maker!"

"Supposedly," said Surana. She rubbed Leliana's back. "Are you alright?"

Leliana nodded furiously. She pointed at a spirit with a bad case of receding hairline. "That's – that's Disciple Havard. How can this be?"

"They are most likely spirits of faith, such as the Guardian," Morrigan said dismissively.

"How can you be so sure? What if they're truly the people from the Chant of Light? That was _Shartan_ , The Liberator!"

"Because I am a mage who understands how the Fade works. It would be foolish to believe that the spirits are who they claim to be. That anything here is more than an elaborate charade. I'll grant Andraste this much – she must have been a powerful mage."

Leliana frowned. "Andraste was not a mage."

"And I suppose this isn't magic?" Morrigan gestured expansively around her. "I feel it, girl. The veil is thin here. It is a sign of a powerful spellcaster, to take from the Fade without breaking anything."

Before Leliana could argue her point – I really needed to read this Chant of Light, wow – we'd made it to the receding hairline guy. "The bones of the world stretch towards the sky's embrace. Veiled in white, like a bride greeting her groom. Of what do I speak?"

Eyes turned to me. I shrugged. "Uhh, dunno."

"You have no estimate?" Sten asked. I'd forgotten he'd glued himself to my side. He was still there.

"Not a clue. Just tell him we don't know. He seems like a chill dude."

"I don't know…" Surana murmured. "What if he turns into a de–"

"You have much to learn, and little time. I will shorten the road for you."

Surana's head snapped towards the spirit, who smiled warmly before fading away. I slow-clapped for myself, stopping only when Alistair started clapping as well. "Best mascot in Ferelden," He boasted, ruffling my hair. "Next one! This is _so_ easy. We'll get those ashes in no time."

This spirit was a grizzly man, old, wearing a badass helmet. I gave him a thumbs up – nice, Viking man – that went ignored because he couldn't see me. "A poison of the soul, passion's cruel counterpart; from love she grows, till love lies slain. Of what do I speak?"

I stewed in it. I asked him to repeat himself, had someone else carry on the message, and came to the conclusion that I didn't know a thing. "Jealousy? I'm not sure."

"Better to be safe," said Surana. "We don't know."

The man dipped his head. "You are fortunate in your innocence. Go forth."

We moved to the next one, pretty buoyed. "I like this," Leliana cheered. "It's rare that we aren't killing our way across the country!"

"It is boring," said Shale. "I hope the next trial is a duel."

The riddle for this man was: "She wields the broken sword, and separates true kings from tyrants. Of what do I speak?"

Before I could answer, Shale said, "Oh, just turn into a demon already, would you?"

The spirit glowered. Wynne stepped forward and frantically said, " _Mercy_! _The answer is mercy_!" but it was too late. The spirit transformed into a wraith, leaping at Shale with its claws out. Shale uppercutted the spirit, cackling when it slammed back into the wall. Morrigan sent a spell that made the demon stop in its tracks, screaming. From there, it was easy for Zevran to behead it.

"You always make things interesting," the assassin complimented the stone giant. "We're lucky to have you."

"Yes, I know."

Wynne had gone a little red. "Shale, do _not_ do that again."

"I do not listen to it. It is too easily squishable."

"You endangered the entire company!"

"Hardly. If a small it such as that was capable of killing all the other its, it would have deserved its death. The demons are not intimidating." Shale shook their head like Wynne was a pest that wouldn't leave them alone. "Next!"

Surana hurried onwards, not wanting to be present for the argument. "Riddle, please!"

Leliana gasped. This spirit was wearing a Chantry robe. "Disciple Cathaire!"

"What a lame name."

She glared at me.

"No man has seen it but all men know it. lighter than air, sharper than any sword. Comes from nothing, but will fell the strongest armies. Of what do I speak?"

"Ren?" I just shrugged. "You don't _know_?"

"The way he said it confused me."

"Dude."

Sten rolled his eyes, raising his voice: "The answer is hunger, spirit."

Disciple Cathaire smiled with too many teeth. "Yes, hunger was the weapon used against the wicked men of the Tevinter Imperium. The Maker kindled the sun's flame, scorching the land. Their crops failed, and their armies could not march. Then He opened the heavens and bade the waters flow, and washed away their filth. I am Cathaire, disciple of Andraste and commander of Her armies. I saw these things done, and knew the Maker smiled on us."

Leliana's eyes might have been sparkling. It did not last long. "You rely on your silent god to do your job for you," said Sten, viciously disapproving. I coughed to cover my smirk. "That is nothing to be proud of."

"And I suppose the Qun does things better?" Leliana shot back.

Sten met her eyes steadily. "Yes." The lay sister let out a strangled noise of frustration. A door had opened to our left, and Sten ignored it to finish speaking. "This is why Ferelden will be conquered by my people. You have no sense of duty. It is a weakness that the qunari will exploit."

Wynne's eyes widened. "Even after everything you've experienced in Ferelden, you still believe you will invade?"

"It is a fact, and the Qun will fix this disgusting place."

"It's the wet dog smell, isn't it?" Zevran mused. "It's unbearable." Sten pulled a face at the reminder.

I was walking ahead of the group with Surana and Morrigan. This meant that I got to meet the spirit that was waiting for us on the other side of the door first. He was familiar, tall and reedy with limp black hair and a five o'clock shadow. The robes rang a few bells, being a darker shade of the robes Surana was wearing when I first met her.

The man smiled comfortably. "Have fun with the little riddle game? I know you always hated those kind of things."

Surana's face went blank. "You aren't Jowan. He wouldn't be foolish enough to show his face to me after Redcliffe."

Redcliffe… Redcliffe! This was the mage in the dungeons! The one Surana knew from the Circle; she'd let him go, and it had taken a lot from her to do. I thought she'd freed him because they were friends – her reaction here told me that there was more to the story.

The man, Jowan, chuckled. "I didn't think I would trick you. But am I really a spirit? Or is this all in your mind? Are you in the Fade, perhaps? Honestly, I don't know. I am apart of the Gauntlet. I am Jowan. I am you. All these statements are true."

"What do you want, _spirit_."

"To speak. To offer advice."

Surana's nostrils flared. "I don't want it," she hissed. "Why would I ever accept advice from you? After what you did?"

"Closure." Jowan crossed his arms, expression losing its levity. "You have wondered many times if what happened to me was your doing. Perhaps if you had taken another route, or you'd talked to me more, things might have been different. It is time to forgive yourself, and move on. My actions had nothing to do with you."

"And if I wish they had?"

"You dwell on things that you cannot change. My betrayal eats away at you because you allow it to. I used blood magic knowing what it would mean to you – that was my own decision, and I have paid for it. You must let me go, Neria. Focus on being the mage I couldn't be. The mage your _father_ couldn't be."

Surana stood in statuesque silence. Jowan did not continue, and she asked quietly, "Is that all."

Jowan looked sad. "That is all." He agreed, and after a lingering look, faded away just as the others had. There was a thunderous expression on Surana's face, a cacophony of emotions that she didn't seem to know what to do with.

She walked ahead, footsteps uncharacteristically heavy and reckless, until she reached the next door. She flung it open furiously, only to gargle when a dagger sliced for her neck.

Morrigan used an instinctive mind blast to throw the enemy back, reaching to cover Surana's wounded neck. " _Heal it_." She ordered the mage, eyes dark as she surveyed the room. It was full of spirits, armored and – _us_. All of us, ghostified. The dagger had belonged to spirit!Zevran, who had by now danced out of range. An arrow came for Morrigan's head; the witch froze it in mid-air, very obviously unhappy.

"Tiresome," she snarled, and just fucking shapeshifted into a bear. Naturally, she immediately mauled spirit!Zevran. I stuck by Surana's hunched form until the rest of the group caught up; Leliana took over for me, delicate features concerned as she protected Surana and Wynne, who was assisting the healing. Torn jugular. Hrrgh, nasty.

"Should I be apologizing?" Zevran asked. He was fighting spirit!Alistair, having ease with the task if he was able to throw out snarky comments. "I apologize, dear Warden. It seems the spirit version of myself has no compunctions with killing blows. Had. Morrigan finished him quite handedly – _whoa_!"

The exclamation was because spirit!Alistair had thrown Zevran to the floor with three violent hits of his shield. The Antivan elf laid there, dazed and trying to move regardless because he didn't know when to fucking quit. Shale was nearest, but rather occupied handling their own counterpart as none of us wanted to try fighting a golem. That left me.

Well, I did owe Zevran my life twice over by this point. It was about time I started repaying that debt.

I tackled spirit!Alistair. Or I tried to. As soon as I was close enough, the spirit screamed and disappeared. I stumbled, half because my target wasn't there anymore and half because there was a sudden discrepancy in my energy levels. I was light-headed. Also, my ankle was _not_ happy. "Oh, wow, what?"

Zevran groaned, getting groggily to his feet on pure willpower. "I must have a concussion because I don't think I saw that right…"

"No, you did." I hesitated, unsure of how to explain it. "Do you think my magic thing works against spirits?"

"We would have noticed it earlier, don't you think?"

I wasn't so sure. My range for nullification wasn't exactly visible. I knew it was a bubble, but I didn't know how big, only that spells had to be really up in my grill before they dissipated. By that logic, I'd have to be touching a spirit – or just about – to realize any effects. Gigantor kept my enemies at a distance; maybe I should try putting away the sword.

"Are you just _standing there_?"

That was Alistair (the real one). He sounded aghast. I told him to, "WAIT A GODDAMN MINUTE."

I followed this by charging at spirit!Leliana, who was _so_ good with those arrows, hooboy. If I wasn't so used to swerving her projectiles, I would have been pinned by now. I sent a mental thank you to my teacher – if she hadn't insisted weeks ago that I learn dexterity by dodging her arrows, I would've been in trouble right now. When I was close enough, spirit!Leliana put away the bow and reached for her daggers.

I threw myself on the floor, slid forward slightly, and grabbed her leg. Her foot disappeared, and spirit!Leliana's mouth opened in a silent scream. The sight of her anguish almost made me pause. When she collapsed, I went for her neck, proving my theory correct. She died, and my nullification worked on spirits; cut them off from the Fade, maybe. They couldn't live without that thing, right?

But there had to be more. Getting up again proved harder than last time, and the light-headedness returned. I could feel the beginnings of a headache, a cramping in my stomach, and I groaned. Alright, we weren't doing that again. It was enough to know it worked.

Sten, with the assistance of Morrigan, killed spirit!Sten. Templar-trained Alistair had already put down spirit!Wynne and was working on spirit!Morrigan, who was… very talented, and giving him a lot of trouble. It wasn't until Shale (exhausted from their battle with themself) came over that the duo were able to put spirit!Morrigan down.

"Hey," I started. "Anyone know where spirit!Surana is?"

She must have been waiting for her queue.

There were sparks, and, when I turned to the real Surana, saw her eyes wide and her hands gesturing frantically. She couldn't speak with her throat in that state, but she looked like she had something important to say. It became evident where the wind picked up.

"Brasca," Zevran summarized. I didn't know Antivan, but that tone was universal. We were about to get royally fucked. "Since when has the Warden known how to do this spell?" And then he yelled, because 'this spell' was apparently a lightning storm and he was struck first.

I was unharmed. From the spell, at least. The running I'd just done had fucked my ankle up even more. I might have made a bad situation even worse. I could see through the storm that there were people trying to fight there way towards spirit!Surana regardless of the electrocution, and wondered about it. I wasn't feeling too hot, but I also wasn't being _tortured_. I was winning.

Was.

Because I was going to have to run again. The storm was interfering with Surana's healing, and also was doing a spectacular job at fucking us over. Spirit!Surana was just fine though, and sending spells at the warriors quite happily. I was the only choice.

 _Sten better not be mad at me for this_ , I thought petulantly, limp-running across the room to fly-tackle spirit!Surana. With full-body contact, she disappeared as suddenly as spirit!Alistair had.

The magic stopped. A few individuals fell to their knees, shaking in the aftermath.

Shale cleared their throat, the least affected. "It has its uses after all."

"We'll talk about this," I gestured to myself, limp with exhaustion, "when we're off this fucking mountain. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

Wynne, however, let out an outraged noise. "Ren, your _ankle_."

"Oh. That. Almost forgot about that." (I hadn't). "Anyone have any health potions? Oldie, don't. That shit doesn't even work on me, okay, I don't know why you always do this – _back off_ –"

"Be silent, child. I have a feeling–" Wynne gingerly kneeled, placing her glowy blue hands to my ankle.

I mean, _directly_ on my ankle.

She was touching it.

The inflammation was soothed so quickly I couldn't help but melt into the feeling. "Damn-that-feels-good-oh-my-god?"

Wynne's eyebrows were drawn together. "It's already becoming challenging…" As she said it, the glow started to flicker. I could see the effort it took for her to reignite her magic, but once it was snuffed, it refused to come back. "I'm sorry, Ren. I thought I could do more."

The inflammation was down, the swelling wasn't as bad, and once tested, I decided that I could limp around on this. "Oldie, it's a fucking miracle that you managed to do anything at _all_." I helped her to her feet. "How the FUCK."

"It seems your nullification does have its limits," Morrigan mused, fascinated. "When you weaponize it, you seem to lose the protection it offers you. Action versus reaction. The vulnerability, luckily, does not appear to be permanent. Does that mean the secret to generating your power is within you, similar to the way a mage regenerates their mana?"

"I dunno," I muttered. Remember when I said I could tell the difference between innocent curiosity and psycho curiosity? Yeah. "Thanks, Oldie."

"It was no trouble, Ren."

"Surana, how's the neck?"

Surana gave me a thumbs up. "It's coming along," Leliana told me, relieved. "Thankfully, Neria reacted in time. She will make a full recovery. Just, no more talking for now."

I put my hands on my waist. "Everyone's fine?"

Zevran wasn't. Wynne went over to assist with the cracked skull. Otherwise, it was a clean bill of health for the Blight Asskicking Team. I was proud of us. Those ashes were _ours._

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #227  
.

We're up to the third trial. It has been an hour. Witchy, Leliana, Oldie, and Neria have been arguing for the past fifteen minutes. John the mabari needs to go to the bathroom somewhere and I'm afraid it's going to be on my leg. Beefcake has been trying to suggest an idea but he keeps getting talked over. I'm going to die here surrounded by the biggest idiots in Thedas.

Zev is sleeping in the corner. I think this is the first time I've seen him do that. I wonder if he'll wake up if I whisper his name. That'd be pretty cool.

[ _An unfinished drawing of Zevran Arainai. Unlike most of the art in the journal, Mihren has attempted a realistic style. He managed half of Arainai's face and a torso before giving up. The rest of the body is drawn cartoonishly._ ]

Running out of charcoal. Elfroot, birch leaves, boswellia. Need to restock on all my herbs. Get some beeswax and essences, too. Never thought I'd be using this journal to write down my grocery lists, but that's character growth I think. Gotta remember to sell this axe.

NOTE: Give it a badass name. People like badass names.

ANOTHER NOTE: Ask for Leliana's help with the name. She'll know what sounds right.

I have, in the past hour, seen a lot of bullshit.

[ _A rough sketch of the room from a birds-eye view. There are twelve tiles, six on each side. Mihren has numbered them L1 - L6, R1 - R6. There are stars helpfully tagged with the names of party members. Shale's star is especially huge. There are three drawings in total: they appear to be the solution to the bridge puzzle of the third trial._ ]

Magic is fucking tedious. Zev is still asleep. Maybe. I'm pretty sure I heard him muttering something in Antivan. He's faking to keep out of the argument as if the wait isn't frustrating him. Zev is not a patient person.

John the mabari peed over the edge, and I hope the Guardian doesn't smite him for that.

Skeletor would miss the mutt. I wouldn't. The overgrown slab of hairy meat reeks. But I'm a thoughtful father.

Oldie has been switched out for G. Neria with Beefcake. Hope this gets sorted out. I need to take a piss.

[ _A doodle of a man, Mihren, and a little girl. Only the little girl has a caption: 'Sister.'_ ]

Never mind, I need to take a shit. Gonna sort this mess out.

(Useless motherfuckers.)

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #228  
.

We're outside Haven. Neria has her special pouch. We're going back to Redcliffe, quickest route, no pit stops.

Beefcake has the twitches. Desperately need him to cut that shit out. It's making it hard to chill with him shitting bricks.

Not that I don't get it. Sick father(-figure) is right up my alley. I'd give him advice but I'm not a role model on the topic.

He should do everything I didn't–

The cold has punished my toes not nearly to the extent it should have. Neria told me that's an elf thing. I'm still frosty, but it ain't killing me yet! Just gotta dip my feet into lukewarm water every time we lay down camp. Hardly the worst thing in the world.

[ _A drawing of a hornless qunari._ ]

Neria's tent is empty again tonight. And that's all I'm saying about it.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #229  
.

Braided Zev's hair this morning. Hunted with Leliana. Cuddled Skeletor.

Good day.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #232  
.

[ _A black cat with white mittens is comically drawn with X's for eyes._ ]

Can someone tell me how my cat keeps eating my LEATHER clothing thanks?

Got my period last night. Kind of want to die. Moving past the urge. Cannot leave Skeletor without her dad.

And the axe is heavy. I'm a jinx

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #245  
.

LOTR ORCS FROM SATAN'S ASSHOLE VISITED. THEY MET MY _FISTS_. AND MY SWORD. BEST DAY OF MY LIFE. IT'S BEEN BORING WITHOUT THE DARKSPAWN I'M NOT GOING TO LIE.

Leliana threw dirt in a Genlock's face. Wish she had told me about her badassery in Lothering. I could have learned more than Trade's runic alphabet from her.

[ _Hastily scribbled in the margins are four hawks, lovingly shaded._ ]

About halfway to Redcliffe.

Kind of worrying that there are Darkspawn up here already–

This Blight is serio–

I'm **really** worr–

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #268  
.

Zev volunteered to bone me and I laughed so hard I pissed my pants. He must be desperate. Poor motherfucker. Redcliffe will celebrate us saving their unworthy asses – told him to wait a lil longer and he'd have his shot.

We're nearly there btw. Beefcake's more nervous than ever. Oldie and Neria have been keeping him sane but I think he's gonna snap soon.

FINALLY stocked up on everything I'm low on. Will sell axe (FAITH'S EDGE LELIANA NAMED IT) in Redcliffe.

G's been nice lately… Well, by his standards. By everyone else's: not so much.

But I'm not difficult to please in the first place. Would be super hypocritical, I think.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #269  
.

I don't have enough money for chicken nuggets.

Also, King of Redcliffe is awake. Some stuff happened and the most important thing is that he wants Beefcake to be King of FERELDEN.

Like, the _country_.

...

… hmm.

I've heard this man jack off in his tent and come out to eat dinner like nothing happened. Didn't even wash his hands. He had a panic attack when Neria asked him to pick berries because it was too much responsibility.

Total sub.

We'll see, but if you ask me? Think Old Man Redcliffe has brain damage :/

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #270  
.

Can still smell burnt flesh and am drinking watered down ale(?) anyway. Old Man Redcliffe insisted that there be a party in our honor… I don't like this guy.

"Enjoy yourselves," He said. "The opportunity will not often present itself," He said. "Take control," He said.

Beefcake tried turning it down but Old Man Redcliffe wouldn't have it.

So.

I'm in a bar, sniffing this shitty drink, trying not to gag. Something is floating in it. Disagree.

Neria is next to me. We're both hiding in the corner. Witchy is here too but I'm trying to forget about that. Beefcake is catching up with some old friends, but he looks uncomfortable. We're here because of him – he could at least pretend he's enjoying himself more.

(It could be that Neria has been glaring holes into the back of his head since the moment he stuttered, "S-Sure, Eamon, it would be a pleasure to attend the party!")

((Neria hates parties. The only thing she hates more is being kept from fulfilling her duty as a Grey Warden. Beefcake did bad tonight.))

I don't see Shale, G, or Oldie. They're probably at the campsite babysitting the animals. Leliana and Zev are making friends tho. One more biblically than the other.

I'm gonna go fuck with some losers. Entertain myself.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon  
Entry #271

.

… Woke up in G's tent. He said I crashed there last night, absolutely fucking smashed. I paid him in sovereigns even though he didn't need me to. He's refused to tell me more.

That's the bad news.

Good news: I ended up selling the axe!

Don't remember drinking enough to black out but okay. Just finished washing up and sharpening Gigantor. Huge headache. Hope I didn't do anything embarrassing.

We're moving on soon. Double pace. Straight for the elves. I'm excited? Haven't seen many elves in the towns, y'know. Be good to see how my "people" are living.

[ _A self-portrait of Mihren. His hair is long, wavy, and thick. The ears are exaggerated in size to better showcase the missing left lobe and right tip. It is not captioned._ ]

…

Zev says I got in a brawl last night? with a creepy dude? Beefcake had to pull me off of him?

?

I went full berserk on a civilian I guess what the fuck? For some reason, no one's mad. I'll get them to tell me why not.

Unless it's because they're used to my bullshit already. Fuck zombie village anyway! Creepy civvie probs deserved it.

Deuces.


	10. Knock Knock! It's Ren's Personal Quest!

.

Excerpts from Mihren's Journal: From Origins to Inquisition

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon

Entry #289

.

Dream journal time.

I watched a Youtube video once that said if you started a dream journal, it would make lucid dreaming easier. But you needed some form of sleep schedule as well, which I didn't have, so obviously the lucid dreaming thing never happened. My teeth fall out and I just accept that that's how it is now, like some kind of non-lucid motherfucker who regularly gets freaked on by his subconscious.

Anyway, the dream.

Darkspawn. A lot of them. An entire hoard. They seemed to be rallying, maybe one huge Darkspawn rave in the Deep Roads that no one else was invited to. IDK, I'm not the Grey Warden here.

Transitioned dream-like to some place next to a lake. Not in Thedas. More like the quarry Malcom and I used to hang out in. He wasn't there, though - it was just me and some stones. I skipped them for, like, fucking hours.

I blink, next thing I know I'm sitting in my living room. My little sister is on the floor coloring. I want her to turn around but she doesn't.

Dad says my name. I barely hear him. He says it again, so I turn to him. He looks as shit as is typical for someone who's gonna die but doesn't have the money to do it in the comfort of St. Thomas' public hospital. He wants juice, I get him juice. He wants a blanket, I get him a blanket. Haven't looked after him for about one year now but it was a dream so I just fell back into old habits.

The doorbell rings. "That must be Leandra," is word-for-word what dad says. As in, Leandra Hawke. Dead Leandra. But it's a dream so she's there when I open the door.

I wake up just after I finish hugging Garrett. Kinda bitter. Didn't get to say hello to Bethy, yknow?

I might keep it up with the dream journal stuff.

It was good to see everyone again.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon

Entry #292

.

The… Dalish? are approaching.

Well, we're approaching the Dalish. Witchy can't stop talking about how we have probably missed them because they're nomadic. Eh. We'll see. From what I've heard we don't _really_ need them.

It's just one dragon. Do we really need _any_ of these armies? Throw me at it and I'll annoy it to death.

Neria's twisted into knots about visiting this clan. Apparently the Dalish throw out their mages? I don't know, she didn't say much but the Circle had Dalish elves and Neria doesn't approve of the whole… idea. Witchy told her not to judge so hastily.

 _Witchy_.

It'll be cool to put this whole thing behind us. I feel like I've been saying that since the beginning though, so.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon

Entry #293

.

I'm so fucking tired of TREES.

I get it, okay? No more!

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon

Entry #294

.

Somehow ended up giving Oldie a massage. Dad used to get stiff muscles since he didn't move much so I'm slightly an expert on the subject.

Super awkward though. She was mega tense and… people make _sounds_ when you give them massages… ugghhht. Zev was waggling his eyebrows at me the entire time. We aren't doing that again.

Skeletor broke her leg as well. Oldie fixed it quickly and I gave that little lady the scolding of a fucking lifetime. Dumb shit. How many cats does she think there are in Thedas? She's it for me.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon

Entry #295

.

Brecilian forest is large. Dunno why I'm surprised by it. I travelled for months without these jokes accompanying me, I have my own knowledge.

Also, fought a bear (not Witchy).

Well, G fought a bear. Beefcake, Zev and I cheered him on. Leliana was not that impressed by our actions but did praise G when all was dead and done.

Dinner was filling tonight. We've never had extra meat before!

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon

Entry #296

.

Leliana's fitting in reading lessons. Wonder when she'll give up on that. Soon, surely.

Wrangled some Circle tales out of Neria. It went through a demon infestation before I joined the group, which is pretty cool. Uhh… she only just grew out her hair before this templar chopped it all off when she was thirteen. Oldie tried to teach her spirit healing but Neria was too destructive for the practice. Her favorite color is "sunset orange".

She remembers her family but doesn't like to talk about it, or where she's from. She doesn't like being close to violence, so her magey stuff helps with that. She spent one month in solitary for "disrespecting" a templar who wanted her to look him in the eye when he was speaking to her.

And yeah, she's dating Leliana and Witchy. Beefcake owes me money.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon

Entry #297

.

I love when Neria asks me to scout ahead because everyone knows I'm shit at that. It's like asking a monkey to do calculus. You know they aren't gonna fucking manage but you enjoy watching the process because it's hilarious from the outside.

I'm gonna scout. Assholes.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon

Entry #298

.

Ran into a pack of wolves. We literally walked right past their den and they attacked us.

"Ren is no longer scouting alone," Zev told us. _I_ have been telling them that from the start. I didn't see the den at all. I just collected herbs and circled back.

Oldie appreciated it.

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon

Entry #299

.

Braid count: 5.

Customers: G, Leliana, Neria, Zev, Oldie.

G fucked up his fingers against the wolves so I did his cornrows. Leliana wanted me to do her hair because, idk, she was in the mood for it. Think she wanted to gossip with me about the others 'cause that's what she did. Neria's just lazy. Zev asked to stir shit but he seemed pretty happy when I actually did it. I offered my services to Oldie because Beefcake was looking left out and I really wanted him to feel that.

Heard him squawk when I asked Witchy if she was interested. Ha!

.

* * *

9:30 Dragon

Entry #300

.

Literally every time Neria gathers scouts, Zev laughs when she says my name. Asked why I kept coming on these things. Beefcake said it was like hitting your head against a wall. Either your head broke or the wall did. I'm going to kill him one day.

Witchy is coming too. Her shapeshifting is useful and me and her are the most experienced with the wilds. Even though the Brecilian forest is nothing like the Korcari.

Beefcake's coming because he's a bitch. And none of the rogues were interested. That's literally what they said.

I didn't even know you could _do that_.

.

* * *

"Wait… I know this place."

Neria was the only one to hear me.

"You've travelled through this forest?"

I slowed down to a crawl. Usually, all forests look the same to me, because a tree is a tree is a tree, you know? It's unusual for me to feel the inklings of familiarity somewhere, even if I knew I was revisiting a location. I just didn't tend to get nostalgic about places I've been before. There wasn't much to get nostalgic about.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. It's another dirt path from months of much the same, yet something about _this_ one… My stomach flipped over.

"That's right. You travelled a bit on your own, didn't you?" Alistair mused. Apparently the idea was funny to him. "I'm surprised you made it as far as you did what with you being — well, _you_."

I laughed sarcastically even though Alistair had a point. It's a pure fucking miracle I made it to Calenhad without misplacing more toes. "Made my way up from the south," I said, brushing my fingers along some low-hanging leaves.

There was this thing, psychometry, the psychic ability to read an object's history through touch. You could know where it's been, who owned it, the emotions attached to it. I didn't have any latent psychometric ability, but I knew for sure I had a knack for getting my hands dirty.

"I might have passed through here."

"I wouldn't suppose you have any survival tips for us?" Alistair asked.

Morrigan shook her head before I could speak. "I wager that the boy has no wisdom to depart with."

Because it's her, she made it sound as insulting as possible, which made me want to pick a fight. The nausea I'm feeling stopped me, though, and the most I managed was flipping her off. "Bandits, yeah, but you guys know how to fuck those guys up. Besides, I avoided them."

"A first for you," said Neria.

"I — yes, actually. It… was."

"You good, Ren?" Alistair poked.

I frowned at my bare feet, hideous though they were. Memory tickled me like a feather, sensation intensifying the harder I paid attention to it. I was forgetting something. Or remembering. I couldn't decide which, but my discomfort grew thicker until I felt fuzzy. I rested my hand on my belt: touching my journal, not my sword.

At once, it hit me. The journal. The leather-bound book I discovered on the corpse of some poor dead idiot. It was here, in this forest, I was sure of it. And if this was the forest I'd found the journal, and Gigantor's first version, then that meant…

Fuck. _Fuck this_.

I was back?

Alistair made an urgent sound. "Ren, buddy?"

"We shouldn't —" It left me in a gasp. When my lungs suddenly seized, it didn't surprise me at all, but my instinctive flinch when I felt hands on me did. I never — I never — I wasn't this poor _victim_ , okay?

Neria didn't touch me again. She coached me back to reality by repeating my name. Mihren Osmani. Annoyance probably did the bulk of it: I couldn't believe she was calling me Mihren at a time like this. Once I'd calmed down enough to focus, I categorized the position of everyone. Alistair was hovering, looking confused as hell, while Morrigan distastefully surveyed the area. Her back was to me but I could tell from her posture that the holdup was not appreciated.

But she still kept a look-out. It was something.

Neria made me look at her, although it was obvious that she was staring at everything except my eyes. "What is it?" She wanted to know.

I breathed shakily. "There's a house nearby. A hut. It's where… I don't… I think I could find it."

"A hut?" Alistair eyed me warily. "That's what sent you into a panic, man?"

Neria didn't seem to get it, and then she did. Her bright eyes shuttered as she took in the state of me and my words and the only clear correlation between them. "Where, Osmani?"

I pointed vaguely. I didn't know how I knew, but I did. Maybe I'd memorized the way out despite only using it once. Surely it wasn't difficult to retrace my steps?

She stood up and extended her hands to me, an offering I accepted on behalf of my trembling legs. "Change of plans. We're taking a detour," Neria said brusquely. She narrowed her eyes at them. "And I'm not listening to any complaints about it."

Morrigan seemed distinctly annoyed. "As you wish," She huffed.

Alistair was similarly not sold, and he slowly said, "If it's that important…?"

Neria saw the gap he left and did the verbal equivalent of brushing it aside. "Yes," She said, adding nothing onto the end. Alistair threw his hands up in exasperation, his theatrics duly ignored.

"Ren, lead us."

Right. I could… I could most certainly do that.

* * *

Minutes later, I stood there. I never thought I would be return, let alone willingly. I thought you'd have to drag me back. How stupid could I be?

The atmosphere was a bit tense. Any attempts to obtain answers from either me or Neria were unsuccessful. Alistair was talented at managing moods, but this was beyond him. He settled for guarding our flanks and offering silent, although keenly exasperated, support. If no one explained the situation to him soon, he would undoubtedly start poking until one of us exploded.

He was in luck. I was never more high strung than right fucking now.

The hut was not particularly ominous. It'd definitely seen better days; with no one to look after it, disrepair was the kindest possible fate. Bile rose in my throat. If I felt unsafe miles away, I was swimming in heebie jeebies now.

"Well, elf? Do you intend to stand here all day?"

Morrigan's words urged me to mechanically walk forward. The door was hanging off its hinges — me, I recalled, I was responsible for that — and swung open with the slightest nudge. A year's worth of rot and death wafted past me, and I heard someone hastily cut off their groan.

"Osmani…"

"I'm fine," I interrupted her. "There's nothing upstairs. Follow me."

The trap door was in the pantry, opened the way I left it. The flies and all sorts of bugs inhabited the small space, feasting on what I hadn't looted. The smell was strongest down the hole. I steeled myself and began to descend the rickety ladder. Alistair followed quickly. Morrigan and Neria hesitated, murmuring softy to each other.

" _Maker_ ," Alistair groaned, pinching his nose shut. I covered my mouth. "The stench!"

Piss and shit and blood and decomposing flesh. It was more… _intense_ now that I didn't live in it. I armed myself with Gigantor.

"I really don't think anyone is alive," Alistair told me.

I couldn't shake my mood. "Be wary," I said. My grip was too tight on the handle. I wouldn't be able to swing like this, but it was comforting to have a weapon in hand. Besides, I wouldn't put it past the psycho bitch to have a demon snake lying in wait.

We picked through the cavern, larger than I experienced, which almost focused me on my task. Alistair went through rooms and I rifled through drawers. There was no order. Everything was already upturned by the time I got to it. The… the lady wouldn't have done it. She was too methodical and collecting keepsakes was not a priority when escaping. Similarly I saw tripwires and false floors everywhere: disarmed traps, evidence that my group wasn't the first scavengers to beset the place. In the mess I found leafs of paper with — _notes_ , let's call them. Of me. Of what she did to me. I read long enough to parse their contents before I stuffed them in my bag. Later, perhaps.

I hadn't heard from Alistair for a little, so I went searching for him. He was closing a heavy door behind him. His face was dead white.

I felt cold.

"What did you see?"

"Don't go in there."

"Beefcake."

"Go find Neria or something. Where are they? What's taking so long? _Girls_!"

"For god's sake—" I bit, and shouldered past him to kick open the door. He lurched to shut it again, but I'd already slipped under his arm, inside the room.

A large stone mound was in the middle of the room. A platform. There were leather straps somehow hammered into the rock, worn and well-used. It was stained brown. Dried blood. Along the walls were shelves of jars, herbs and animal parts. On the benches, metal instruments. I didn't have to guess their use. Evidence was written into my skin.

I heard buzzing. I searched for the origin of the noise. Slouched against the wall was a — corpse, a woman, her dark hair matted in her face. The back of her head was split open. I remembered the crack, her scream, getting on top of her and losing all thoughts of mercy. The dagger was still in her chest. She had bugs all over her. The buzzing was the flies. She looked pathetic and empty and dead.

Alistair grabbed my shoulders and forced me to face him, to look away from the awful picture she painted. Sorry, no — the picture _I_ painted with _her_ techniques. "Nope. We aren't doing this. Out, out, out!"

" _Beefcake_."

"Unless the words following that are ' _I completely agree with you_ ', I don't wanna hear it."

He shepherded me into the initial foyer where Neria and Morrigan were waiting. As soon as she laid eyes on us, Morrigan said, "The Fade is thin. Did you encounter any resistance?"

"Not as such," said Alistair. "Unless you count trauma, which I'm positive you don't seeing that you're soulless."

The women shared a look. "You should have. There is barely anything keeping spirits and demons back."

"Maybe they weren't that interested today. Yay. Let's move on. Ren, did you grab everything?"

"We can leave," I agreed. The papers burned a hole in my bag. I wanted to rip them to shreds, but they were my answer to returning home so I couldn't. God, what a fucking mess.

 _Thud_!

"Uh oh," Alistair said flatly. We faced the noise. The door to _the_ room vibrated under the force of another hit. I heard the warrior sigh as he raised his sword and shield. "You jinxed it, Morrigan."

"I did no such thing," she denied. "I considered the information and made an accurate prediction. 'Tis well within anyone's capability, given that one has the necessary intellect."

"And I guess I don't qualify," Alistair sounded unimpressed. _Thud!_ He didn't react. He was too busy trying to set Morrigan on fire with his eyes.

"Please don't fight," Neria pleaded. "There is a time and a place, you two. Just putting that out there."

THUD! THUD! _THU—_

The door smashed open. The half-decomposed corpse was staggering towards us, mouth agape in a wordless groan. Great. One fresh zombie bitch coming right up.

Neria put her staff on the ground, sending an arctic spell at the possessed woman. It froze her left side solid. The ice exploded off when she released an unholy scream — the earth rumbled with it, and Morrigan made an affronted noise.

"Incoming," Neria warned as spirits jumped to the demon's aid. Dust wraiths, rage demons, and some green blobs that didn't seem to have any purpose aside from pelting spirit balls at us. _Now_ it was a party.

"I hope one of you will feel generous enough to offer an explanation soon."

Piece said, Alistair threw himself into battle. I did as well. Knowing that my magic immunity had not only limits but a range inspired me to keep the enemies at swords-reach. No closer. I slashed away with Alistair at my side. I kept getting nearer to the epicenter — _her_ — but every time I thought I was going to experience the singular pleasure of having killed her twice, she would tear open the Fade and summon reinforcements.

With a muttered "shameful," Morrigan shifted into her bear form and ravaged the more physical wraiths that way. Alistair and I took care of the spirits who were not as affected by magic. It was tedious work.

Neria's yell snapped me from my battle haze. I searched for her immediately — her eyes were wide, and she used her staff as a blunt weapon, beating a rage demon over the head with it. When her staff caught fire, being that it was wood and wooden things were quite flammable, she yelped again and dropped it. Meanwhile, the rage demon lashed out with its inflamed claws.

A hook caught on the inside of my ribs, and whatever held onto the other end _yanked_.

I had the time to think one thing, an unoriginal but deeply felt, _Fuck me._

It felt like being flayed alive, my skin peeling back, except I looked down and my body was fine. No wounds to speak of. A shockwave rippled out of me, the force of it displacing the air from the room. It pushed across the room, sweeping the spirits and ghosts from fucking reality like it was _nothing_. Alistair stumbled, but Morrigan and Neria straight collapsed.

Oh, no.

When the weight of my actions finally caught up to me, I fell onto my hands and knees. Every breath felt like needles in my lungs and throat. My nerves felt frayed, exposed, until there was no choice but to sit and feel… shit, feel _everything_.

The feather-light electricity that lived among the air, the stench of decomposed flesh, the rot of dark magic— _magic_. Who knew such a thing had a smell and weight and taste to it; that it was alive?

I dragged my eyes up to Neria. The explosion knocked her down. She had a look of panicked, cloudy detachment in her dark eyes, as if she wasn't all there yet. Blood trailed down the side of her face.

She roused when I said her name. "Surana?"

"Osmani," Neria croaked. She pressed her hands on either side of herself and pushed up, which was an example of strength I wished I could make. "Osmani—are you—"

"I'm fine," I told her. "Bit raw. It's okay."

'Bit raw' was an understatement, or might have been if the effects of whatever magic I'd underwent weren't already wearing off. The dullness returned slowly to my bones, a reunion of purpose and soul that I almost resented. Back to my magic-less self, it seemed. It was never something I'd not wanted before.

Neria finally sat up, crawling over to me. She grabbed the lapels of my shirt and yanked until I fell onto her lap. With firm fingers she directed my chin this way and that, checking for damage by herself. There wasn't much she could do without her spells, though, and the knowledge made the tension thicken.

"What did you do?" Neria asked. Up and down, went her eyes. Scanning for wounds beneath my clothes.

I hovered my hand above her shoulder, waiting until she nodded before touching. I gripped her tight. "I'm fine," I said.

"We'll see about that. Osmani, answers. The explosion… was that you?"

My instinct was desperate denial: _it couldn't have been._ Except, miraculously, that was no longer true. It was me. I'd fucking exploded.

"Maybe?" I tried. "I think I blew my load all over the place, Surana."

"I—is now the time for that?"

"I'm being legit!"

Neria wasn't amused, but she smoothed her hands over my arms anyway. I couldn't believe I was being petted right now. "Later, I will expect you to cut the bullshit and talk to me," She said, slow like it hurt to say, "Right now we have to regroup."

I said bitterly, "Am _not_ excited for Witchy's reaction."

"It's the first time she's been Silenced. I need to check on her," Neria agreed. She stood and pulled me up onto my feet, catching me around the waist when I swayed. "She will be insufferable."

Morrigan did as Morrigan was. Insufferability was a strength of hers. I bit my tongue on something snappy and let Neria put my arm around her. My body ached but not from any apparent injury. Nothing bedrest couldn't fix. Not that bedrest was easy to come about, considering the ongoing Blight. So.

Alistair made his way over. Neria happily pushed me onto him, and he accepted my weight without any issue. "About the explanation—"

"Hold that thought," Neria ran over to Morrigan, helping her stand. The witch was pale as parchment, body heavy. Neria whispered into her ear to calm her down. It was Morrigan's first experience with having her magic torn from her. Understandably, she was a bit fucked up about it.

"No, no, that's fine, I just love being kept in the dark about relevant, game-changing information. How long have you hid that one, by the way?" Alistair asked me dryly. "Would have loved to know you were capable of that earlier into the journey, you know?"

"Look at me. Do I seem like someone who has the slightest idea of what is happening."

" _Someone_ is feeling better about his emotional issues. Wow, you're trembling like a leaf," He was absently amazed. More presently, he was grinning like a shit-head. "It's like you're in withdrawal."

"Fuck you, jerk-off."

"That mouth of yours will get you killed. Tell me, mascot." he said fondly.

"I don't know what that was. I didn't know I could do it. I just… saw Surana pinned, and I—"

Yeah? And what, exactly, did I do?

"You saved her life," Alistair concluded. "And thank the Maker you did. Can you imagine the group without her? We'd crash and burn and then no one would be able to save the world from the Blight. Unmitigated disaster."

"No thanks necessary."

"Good, because you aren't getting any. That's the thing about thankless jobs. How certain are you that you can pull that move off again, Ren? I want to know our options."

I mentally assessed myself. "A couple days interval at the very least," I guessed. I didn't have a clue.

It's doable. Alistair slapped my back. He practically walked me back to the women, who were looking much more put together. We passed her corpse about halfway through; I was able to identify it was her before Alistair tutted disapprovingly. I looked away before he could force me.

"Hey," I murmured. "Thanks, man."

"For what?"

I chuckled. He was a good friend.

Alistair elbowed me when I turned away. His eyebrows were furrowed tightly. "No, seriously, _for what_? I still don't know why we're here, asshole. You have waaaay too many secrets. So, that's an issue. Spill."

"Your wish is my command, my sweet Prince."

Yeah, I deserved the slap.


End file.
